Califo 
[egional 
acility 


EVERYMAN, 
I- WILL  GO -WITH 

•THEE, 
SMBE-THYGVIDE 
'1NTHY-MO5FNEEP' 
ITO-GOBY-THY5JDE 


^ 


1317. 


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IN  TWO  STYLES  OF  BINDING,  CLOTH, 
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LEATHER,  ROUND  CORNERS,  GILT  TOP 


LONDON  :    J.  M.  DENT   &   CO. 


PHIUP?SIDNEY 


^HOUSEHOIP 
9^SirTHOMAS 
MORE&XANNE 
MANNING  © 
Witfi  ROPER'S 
LIFE9^MORE 


LONDON.'PUBLISHED 
byJ-M-DENT-©-CO 
AND  IN  NEW  YORK 
BY  E-PDUTTON 


First  Edition,  January   1906. 
Reprinted,  May  1906. 


EDITOR'S  NOTE 

THE  author  of  The  Household  of  Sir  Thomas  More — 
Anne  Manning,  who  died  in  1885 — is  known  to  this 
generation  by  only  a  few  of  her  many  stories,  of 
which  The  Old  Chelsea  Bun- Shop,  Mary  Powell  which 
tells  the  story  of  Milton's  wife,  and  A  Noble  Purpose 
Nobly  Won,  are  perhaps  the  most  read.  But  she  was 
a  delightful  writer,  who  had  a  singular  faculty  of 
putting  herself  into  the  past  j  and  she  never  did  this 
with  more  reality  and  warmth  of  feeling  than  in  the 
following  story.  It  may  seem  to  some  readers  that 
she  would  have  done  better  had  she  kept  less  to  the 
old  spelling  of  the  more  ordinary  words ;  but  if  this 
is  a  drawback,  the  whole  effect  of  the  book  otherwise 
is  to  make  transparently  and  perfectly  natural  the 
picture  of  More's  day  Its  truth  to  the  period  may 
best  be  understood  by  comparing  the  story  told  in 
the  diary  of  Margaret  More  with  the  life  of  her 
father  written  by  her  husband,  William  Roper,  which 
is  here  prefixed  to  the  supposed  story.  If  we  would 
know  Sir  Thomas  More  from  another  and  critically 
retrospective  point  of  view,  we  can  turn  to  the  lucid 
account  given  of  him  by  M.  Henri  Bremond  in  the 
new  series  of  Lives  of  the  Saints  published  by  Messrs 
Duckworth  &  Co.  For  we  must  not  forget  that 
"the  Blessed  Thomas  More"  has  formally  been 
added  to  the  saints  in  the  Catholic  Calendar.  But 
he  was  a  very  joyous  and  witty  as  well  as  a  wise  and 


2065100 


viii  EDITORS  NOTE 

gentle  saint  while  he  lived ;  and  when  the  sun  shone, 
and  Erasmus  was  his  companion,  and  his  dear  daughter 
Margaret  was  at  his  side,  and  Hans  Holbein  was 
painting  him  and  his  children  in  the  old  mansion  by 
the  Thames  at  Chelsea,  his  life  must  have  been  an 
unusually  happy  one.  We  understand  More's  brave 
spirit,  true  wisdom  and  great  good  nature  the  better 
when  we  read  his  Utopia,  and  learn  there  what  he 
considered  to  be  the  pleasures,  as  well  as  the  duties 
and  real  ends  of  life.  But  there  is  no  better  way  of 
coming  to  know  him  than  in  this  story  by  Miss 
Manning  who  writes  of  him  as  affectionately  as  if  she 
had  been  his  own  daughter,  and  as  vividly  as  if  she 
had  walked  and  talked  with  him  in  the  flesh.  When 
Sir  Thomas  More  was  a  boy  he  wrote  some  lines 
which  run — 

"  He  that  hath  lafte 

The  hosier's  crafte, 

And  fall'th  to  makyng  shoon  ; 

The  smyth  that  shall 

To  painting  fall, 

His  thrift  is  well-nigh  done  !  " 

But  though  Sir  Thomas  More  tried  many  different 
crafts,  and  turned  from  his  books  and  studies  to 
helping  to  rule  the  State  as  Lord  Chancellor,  his 
thrift  was  never  done,  not  even  when  they  put  him 
in  prison.  For  the  rest,  let  Miss  Manning  and 
Margaret  show  him  in  his  everyday  life  and 
circumstance. 


THE  FOLLOWING  IS  A  LIST  OF  THE  WORKS 
OF  MISS  MANNING 

A  Sister's  Gift  :  Conversations  on  Sacred  Subjects,  1826.  The 
Maiden  and  Married  Life  of  Mary  Powell,  afterwards  Mrs  Milton, 
1849  (fr°m  Sharpe'i  Magazine).  The  Household  of  Sir  Thos.  More» 
1851  (from  Sharft't  Magaxme).  Queen  Philippa's  Golden  Booke, 
1851.  The  Draw  ing-Room  Table  Book,  1852.  The  Colloquies  of 
Edward  Osborne,  Citizen  and  Cloth  Worker,  1852.  The  Provoca- 
tions of  Madame  Palissy,  1853.  Cherry  and  Violet:  A  Tale  of  the 
Great  Plague,  1853.  Jack  and  the  Tanner  of  Wymondham,  1854. 
Chronicles  of  Merry  England,  1854.  Claude  the  Colporteur,  1854. 
The  Hill  Side  :  Illustrations  of  Some  of  the  Simplest  Terms  used  in 
Logic,  1854.  Some  Account  of  Mrs  Clarinda  Singlehart,  1855.  The 
Adventures  of  Haroun  al  Raschid,  1855.  A  Sabbath  at  Home,  1855. 
The  Old  Chelsea  Bun  House,  1855.  The  Week  of  Darkness  : 
A  Short  Manual  for  the  Use  and  Comfort  of  Mourners,  1856.  Tasso 
and  Leonora  :  The  Commentaries  of  Ser  Pantaleone  degli  Gambacorti, 
1856.  The  Good  Old  Times:  A  Tale  of  Auvergne,  1857.  Lives  of 
Good  Servants,  1857.  Helen  and  Olga,  A  Russian  Story,  1857.  The 
Year  Nine  :  A  Tale  of  the  Tyrol,  1858.  The  Ladies  of  Bever  Hollow, 
1858.  Poplar  House  Academy,  1859.  Village  Belles,  1859.  Deborah's 
Diary  (Sequel  to  Mary  Powell),  1859,  1860.  Autobiography  of  Valentine 
Duval  (trans.),  1860.  The  Day  of  Small  Things,  1860.  Town  and 
Forest,  1860.  The  Cottage  History  of  England,  1861.  Family 
Pictures,  1861.  Chronicle  of  Ethelfled,  1861.  A  Noble  Purpose 
Nobly  Won  (Joan  of  Arc),  1862.  Meadowleigh,  1863.  The  Duchess 
of  Trajetto,  1863.  An  Interrupted  Wedding,  1864.  Belforest,  1865. 
Selvaggio  :  A  Tale  of  Italian  Country  Life,  1865.  Miss  Biddy  Frobisher, 
1866.  The  Lincolnshire  Tragedy  (Anne  Askewe),  1866.  The  Masque 
at  Ludlow,  and  Other  Romanesques,  1866.  Diana's  Crescent,  1868. 
Jacques  Bonneval,  1868.  The  Spanish  Barber,  1869.  One  Trip  More, 
1870.  Compton  Friars,  1872.  The  Lady  of  Limited  Income,  1872. 
Monk's  Norton,  1874,  Lord  Harry  Bellair,  1874.  Heroes  of  the 
Desert  (Moffat  and  Livingstone),  1875.  An  Idyll  of  the  Alps,  1876. 

Autobiographical  Notices  : — "  Passages  from  an  Authoress's  Life," 
in  Golden  Hours,  1872.  Serial  Tales  appeared  in  this  magazine,  1868- 
1871. 


THE   LIFE   OF 
THOMAS  MOT(E 

In  hoc   »J«    signo  vinces 

FORASMUCH  as  Sir  Thomas  More,  Knight  sometime 
Lord  Chancellor  of  England,  a  man  of  singular  virtue 
and  of  a  clear  unspotted  conscience,  (as  witnesseth 
Erasmus,)  more  pure  and  white  than  the  whitest 
snow,  and  of  such  an  angelical  wit,  as  England,  he 
saith,  never  had  the  like  before,  nor  never  shall  again, 
universally,  as  well  in  the  laws  of  our  Realm  (a  study 
in  effect  able  to  occupy  the  whole  life  of  a  man)  as 
in  all  other  sciences,  right  well  studied,  was  in  his 
days  accounted  a  man  worthy  famous  memory  ;  I 
William  Roper  (though  most  unworthy)  his  son-in- 
law  by  marriage  of  his  eldest  daughter,  knowing  no 
one  man  that  of  him  and  of  his  doings  understood  so 
much  as  myself  for  that  I  was  continually  resident  in 
his  house  by  the  space  of  sixteen  years  and  more, 
thought  it  therefore  my  part  to  set  forth  such  matters 
touching  his  life  as  I  could  at  this  present  call  to 
remembrance.  Among  which  very  many  notable 
things  not  meet  to  have  been  forgotten,  through 
negligence  and  long  continuance  of  time,  are  slipped 
out  of  my  mind.  Yet  to  the  intent  the  same  shall 
A 


2  THE  LIFE  OF 

not  all  utterly  perish,  I  have  at  the  desire  of  divers 
worshipful  friends  of  mine,  though  very  far  from  the 
grace  and  worthiness  of  them,  nevertheless  as  far 
forth  as  my  mean  wit,  memory  and  learning  would 
serve  me,  declared  so  much  thereof  as  in  my  poor 
judgment  seemed  worthy  to  be  remembered. 

This  Sir  Thomas  More  after  he  had  been  brought 
up  in  the  Latin  tongue  at  St  Anthony's  in  London, 
he  was,  by  his  father's  procurement  received  into  the 
house  of  the  right  reverend,  wise  and  learned  prelate 
Cardinal  Morton,  where  (though  he  was  young  of 
years,  yet)  would  he  at  Christmastide  suddenly 
sometimes  step  in  among  the  players,  and  never 
studying  for  the  matter,  make  a  part  of  his  own 
there  presently  among  them,  which  made  the 
lookers-on  more  sport  than  all  the  players  beside. 
In  whose  wit  and  towardness  the  Cardinal  much 
delighting,  would  often  say  of  him  unto  the  nobles 
that  divers  times  dined  with  him,  "  This  child  here 
waiting  at  the  table,  whosoever  shall  live  to  see  it, 
will  prove  a  marvellous  man."  Whereupon  for  his 
learning  he  placed  him  at  Oxford,  where  when  he 
was  both  in  the  Greek  and  Latin  tongue  sufficiently 
instructed,  he  was  then  for  the  study  of  the  law  of 
the  Realm  put  to  an  Inn  of  the  Chancery,  called 
New  Inn,  where  for  his  time,  he  very  well  prospered. 
And  from  thence  was  committed  to  Lincoln's  Inn, 
with  very  small  allowance,  continuing  there  his  study 
until  he  was  made  and  accounted  a  worthy  utter 
barrister.  After  this,  to  his  great  commendation,  he 
read  for  a  good  space  a  public  lecture  of  St  Augustine 


SI^THOS.  M01(E  3 

de  Civitate  Dei  in  the  church  of  St  Laurence  in  the 
Old  Jewry,  whereunto  there  resorted  Doctor  Grocyn, 
an  excellent  cunning  man,  and  all  the  chief  learned 
of  the  city  of  London.  Then  was  he  made  Reader 
of  Furnival's  Inn,  so  remaining  by  the  space  of  three 
years  and  more.  After  which  time  he  gave  himself 
to  devotion  and  prayer  in  the  Charterhouse  of 
London,  religiously  living  there  without  vow  about 
four  years,  until  he  resorted  to  the  house  of  one  Mr 
Colt,  a  gentleman  of  Essex  that  had  oft  invited  him 
thither,  having  three  daughters  whose  honest  con- 
versation and  virtuous  education  provoked  him  there 
especially  to  set  his  affection.  And  albeit  his  mind 
most  served  him  to  the  second  daughter,  for  that  he 
thought  her  the  fairest  and  best  favoured,  yet  when 
he  considered  that  it  would  be  both  great  grief  and 
some  shame  also  to  the  eldest  to  see  her  younger 
sister  in  marriage  preferred  before  her,  he  then  of 
a  certain  pity  framed  his  fancy  towards  her,  and  soon 
after  married  her,  nevertheless  not  discontinuing  his 
study  of  the  law  at  Lincoln's  Inn,  but  applying  still 
the  same  until  he  was  called  to  the  Bench,  and  had 
read  twice,  which  is  as  often  as  any  judge  of  the  law 
doth  read. 

Before  which  time  he  had  placed  himself  and  his 
wife  at  Bucklesbury  in  London,  where  he  had  by  her 
three  daughters,  in  virtue  and  learning  brought  up 
from  their  youth,  whom  he  would  often  exhort  to 
take  virtue  and  learning  for  their  meat,  and  play  but 
for  their  sauce. 

Who  ere  ever  he  had  been  reader  in  Court  was  in 


4  THE  LIFE  OF 

the  latter  time  of  King  Henry  the  Seventh  made  a 
Burgess  in  the  Parliament,  wherein  there  were  by  the 
King  demanded  (as  I  have  heard  it  reported)  about 
three- fifteenths  for  the  marriage  of  his  eldest  daughter, 
that  then  should  be  the  Scottish  Queen.  At  the 
last  debating  whereof  he  made  such  arguments  and 
reasons  there  against,  that  the  King's  demands  were 
thereby  overthrown.  So  that  one  of  the  King's  privy 
chamber,  named  Mr  Tyler,  being  present  thereat, 
brought  word  to  the  King  out  of  the  Parliament 
house,  that  a  beardless  boy  had  disappointed  all  his 
purposes.  Whereupon  the  King  conceiving  great 
indignation  towards  him  could  not  be  satisfied  until 
he  had  some  way  revenged  it.  And  forasmuch  as  he 
nothing  having,  nothing  could  lose,  his  grace  devised 
a  causeless  quarrel  against  his  Father,  keeping  him  in 
the  Tower  until  he  had  paid  him  an  hundred  pounds 
fine.  Shortly  hereupon  it  fortuned  that  this  Sir 
Thomas  More  coming  in  a  suit  to  Dr  Fox,  Bishop 
of  Winchester,  one  of  the  King's  privy  council,  they 
called  him  aside,  and  pretending  great  favour  towards 
him,  promised  him  that  if  he  would  be  ruled  by  him, 
he  would  not  fail  but  into  the  King's  favour  again  to 
restore  him,  meaning,  as  it  was  after  conjectured,  to 
cause  him  thereby  to  confess  his  offence  against  the 
King,  whereby  his  Highness  might  with  better  colour 
have  occasion  to  revenge  his  displeasure  against  him. 
But  when  he  came  from  the  Bishop,  he  fell  in  com- 
munication with  one  Mr  Whitford,  his  familiar 
friend,  then  chaplain  to  that  Bishop  and  after  a 
Father  of  Sion,  and  showed  him  what  the  Bishop  had 


SI1{  THOS.  MOT(E  5 

said  unto  him,  desiring  to  have  his  advice  therein,  who 
for  the  passion  of  God  prayed  him  in  no  wise  to  follow 
his  council  "  for  my  Lord  my  Master  (quoth  he)  to 
serve  the  King's  turn  will  not  stick  to  agree  to  his 
own  father's  death."  So  Sir  Thomas  More  returned 
to  the  Bishop  no  more.  And  had  not  the  King  soon 
after  died,  he  was  determined  to  have  gone  over  the 
sea,  thinking  that  being  in  the  King's  indignation  he 
could  not  live  in  England  without  great  danger. 
After  he  was  made  one  of  the  under-sheriffs  of 
London,  by  which  office  and  his  learning  together  as 
I  have  heard  him  say,  he  gained  without  grief  not  so 
little  as  four  hundred  pounds  by  the  year  ;  since  there 
was  at  that  time  in  none  of  the  Prince's  courts  of  the 
laws  of  this  realm  any  matter  of  importance  in  con- 
troversy wherein  he  was  not  with  the  one  party  of 
counsel.  Of  whom,  for  his  learning,  wisdom,  and 
knowledge  and  experience,  men  had  him  in  such 
estimation,  that  before  he  was  come  to  the  service  of 
King  Henry  the  Eighth,  at  the  suit  and  instance  of 
the  English  Merchants,  he  was,  by  the  King's  con- 
sent, made  twice  Ambassador  in  certain  great  causes 
between  them  and  the  Merchants  of  the  Stilliard, 
whose  wise  and  discreet  dealing  therein  to  his  high 
commendation,  coming  to  the  King's  understanding, 
provoking  his  Highness  to  cause  Cardinal  Wolsey 
(then  Lord  Chancellor)  to  procure  him  to  his  service. 
And  albeit  the  Cardinal  according  to  the  King's 
request  earnestly  travailed  with  him  therefore,  among 
many  other  his  persuasions  alleging  unto  him,  how 
dear  his  service  must  needs  be  unto  his  Majesty, 


6  THE  LIFE  OF 

which  could  not  of  his  honour  with  less  than  he  should 
yearly  lose  thereby  seem  to  recompense  him,  yet  he, 
loath  to  change  his  estate,  made  such  means  to  the 
King  by  the  Cardinal  to  the  contrary,  that  his  Grace 
for  that  time  was  well  satisfied.  Now  happened  there 
after  this  a  great  ship  of  his  that  then  was  Pope  to 
arrive  at  Southampton,  which  the  King  claiming  for 
a  forfeiture,  the  Pope's  Ambassador  by  suit  unto  his 
Grace  obtained,  that  he  might  for  his  Master  the 
Pope  have  counsel  learned  in  the  Laws  of  this  realm, 
and  the  matter  in  his  own  presence  (being  himself  a 
singular  civilian)  in  some  public  place  to  be  openly 
heard  and  discussed.  At  which  time  there  could  none 
of  our  law  be  found  so  meet  to  be  of  counsel  with  this 
Ambassador  as  Sir  Thomas  More,  who  could  report 
to  the  Ambassador  in  Latin  all  the  reasons  and  argu- 
ments by  the  learned  counsel  on  both  sides  alleged. 
Upon  this  the  Councillors  on  either  party  in  presence 
of  the  Lord  Chancellor,  and  other  the  judges  in  the 
Star  Chamber,  had  audience  accordingly.  Where 
Sir  Thomas  More  not  only  declared  to  the  Am- 
bassador the  whole  effect  of  all  their  opinions,  but 
also  in  defence  on  the  Pope's  side  argued  so  learnedly 
himself,  that  both  was  the  foresaid  forfeiture  to  the 
Pope  restored,  and  himself  among  all  the  hearers,  for 
his  upright  and  commendable  demeanour  therein,  so 
greatly  renowned,  that  for  no  entreaty  would  the 
King  from  henceforth  be  induced  any  longer  to  for- 
bear his  service.  At  whose  first  entry  thereunto  he 
made  him  Master  of  the  Requests,  having  then  no 
better  room  void,  and  within  a  month  after,  knight 


SIT^THOS.  MOT(E  7 

and  one  of  his  Privy  Council,  and  so  from  time  to 
time  was  by  the  Prince  advanced,  continuing  in  his 
singular  favour  and  trusty  service  twenty  years  and 
above,  a  good  part  whereof  used  the  King  upon  holi- 
days, when  he  had  done  his  own  devotions  to  send  for 
him  into  his  private  room,  and  there  some  time  in 
matters  of  Astronomy,  Geometry,  Divinity,  and  such 
other  Faculties,  and  some  time  in  his  worldly  affairs, 
to  sit  and  confer  with  him,  and  other  whiles  would  he 
in  the  night  have  him  up  into  the  leads,  there  to  con- 
sider with  him  the  diversities,  courses,  motions,  and 
operations  of  the  stars  and  planets.  And  because  he 
was  of  a  pleasant  disposition,  it  pleased  the  King  and 
Queen  after  the  Council  had  supped,  at  the  time  of 
their  supper  for  their  pleasure  commonly  to  call  for 
him,  and  to  be  merry  with  them.  When  he  perceived 
so  much  in  his  talk  to  delight,  that  he  could  not  once 
in  a  month  get  leave  to  go  home  to  his  wife  and 
children  (whose  company  he  most  desired)  and  to  be 
absent  from  the  Court  two  days  together,  but  that 
he  should  be  thither  sent  for  again,  he  much  misliking 
this  restraint  of  liberty,  began  thereupon  somewhat 
to  dissemble  his  nature,  and  so  by  little  and  little  from 
his  former  mirth  to  disuse  himself,  that  he  was  of  them 
•from  thenceforth  no  more  so  ordinarily  sent  for. 
Then  died  one  Mr  Weston,  Treasurer  of  the  Ex- 
chequer, whose  office  after  his  death  the  King  of  his 
own  offer,  without  any  asking,  freely  gave  unto  Sir 
Thomas  More.  In  the  fourteenth  year  of  his  Grace's 
Reign  was  there  a  Parliament  holden,  whereof  Sir 
Thomas  More  was  chosen  Speaker,  who  being  very 


8  THE  LIFE  OF 

loath  to  take  that  Room  upon  him,  made  an  oration, 
not  now  extant,  to  the  King's  Highness  for  his  dis- 
charge thereof.  Whereunto  when  the  King  would 
not  consent,  he  spake  unto  his  Grace  in  form  follow- 
ing :  "  Since  I  perceive  (most  redoubted  sovereign) 
that  it  standeth  not  with  your  Highness'  pleasure  to 
reform  this  election,  and  cause  it  to  be  changed,  but 
have,  by  the  mouth  of  the  Right  Reverend  Father  in 
God  the  Legate  your  Highness'  Chancellor,  there- 
unto given  your  most  royal  consent,  and  have  of  your 
benignity  determined,  far  above  that  I  may  bear,  to 
enable  me,  and  for  this  office  to  repute  me  meet, 
rather  than  ye  should  seem  to  impute  unto  your 
Commons  that  they  had  unmeetly  chosen,  I  am 
therefore,  and  always  shall  be,  ready  obediently  to 
conform  myself  to  the  accomplishment  of  your  high 
commandment.  In  my  most  humble  wise  beseeching 
your  most  noble  Majesty,  that  I  may,  with  your 
Grace's  favour,  before  I  farther  enter  thereunto, 
make  mine  humble  intercession  unto  your  Highness 
for  two  lowly  petitions,  the  one  privately  concerning 
myself,  the  other  the  whole  assembly  of  your  Common 
House.  And  for  myself  (Gracious  Sovereign)  that 
if  it  mishap  me  in  anything  hereafter,  that  is  in  the 
behalf  of  your  Commons  in  your  high  presence  to  be 
declared,  to  mistake  my  message,  and  for  lack  of  good 
utterance  by  me  misrehearsed,  to  pervert  or  impair 
the  prudent  instructions,  that  it  may  then  like  your 
most  noble  Majesty  of  your  abundant  grace,  with  the 
eye  of  your  accustomed  pity,  to  pardon  my  simplicity, 
giving  me  leave  again  to  repair  to  the  Common 


SI^THOS.  MO1(E  9 

House,  and  there  to  confer  with  them,  and  to  take 
their  substantial  advice,  what  thing,  and  in  what  wise 
I  shall  on  their  behalf  utter  and  speak  before  your 
noble  Grace:  to  the  intent  their  prudent  advices  and 
affairs  be  not  by  my  simpleness  and  folly  hindered  or 
impaired.  Which  thing  if  it  should  so  hap,  as  it  were 
well  likely  to  mishap  in  me  (if  your  Grace's  benignity 
relieved  not  my  oversight)  it  could  not  fail  to  be, 
during  my  life,  a  perpetual  grudge  and  heaviness  to 
my  heart.  The  help  and  remedy  whereof  in  manner 
aforesaid  remembered,  is  (most  Gracious  Sovereign) 
my  first  lowly  suit  and  humble  petition  unto  your 
most  noble  Grace.  Mine  other  humble  request,  most 
excellent  Prince,  is  this.  Forasmuch  as  there  be  of 
your  Commons  here,  by  your  high  commandment 
assembled  for  your  Parliament,  a  great  number  which 
are  after  the  accustomed  manner  appointed  in  the 
Common  House  to  treat  and  advise  of  the  common 
affairs  among  themselves  apart :  and  albeit  (my  liege 
Lord)  that,  according  to  your  prudent  advice,  by  your 
honourable  writs  everywhere  declared,  there  hath 
been  as  due  diligence  used  in  sending  up  to  your 
Highness'  Court  of  Parliament  the  most  discreet 
persons  out  of  every  quarter,  that  men  could  esteem 
meet  thereto,  whereby  it  is  not  to  be  doubted  but 
that  there  is  a  very  substantial  assembly  of  right  wise 
and  politic  persons  :  yet  (most  victorious  Prince)  since 
among  so  many  wise  men,  neither  is  every  man  wise 
alike,  nor  among  so  many  men  like  well  witted,  every 
man  like  well  spoken  ;  and  it  ofteneth  happeneth, 
that  likewise  as  much  folly  is  uttered  with  painted 


io  THE  LIFE  OF 

polished  speeches,  so  many  boisterous  and  rude  in 
language  see  deep  indeed,  and  give  right  substantial 
counsel :  and  since  also  in  matters  of  great  importance 
the  mind  is  often  so  occupied  in  the  matter,  that  a 
man  rather  studieth  what  to  say,  than  how  ;  by  what 
reason  whereof  the  wisest  man  and  best  spoken  in  a 
country  fortuneth  among,  while  his  mind  is  fervent 
on  the  matter,  somewhat  to  speak  in  such  wise,  as  he 
would  afterward  wish  to  have  been  uttered  otherwise, 
and  yet  no  worse  will  had  when  he  spake  it,  than  he 
hath  when  he  would  so  gladly  change  it :  Therefore 
(most  Gracious  Sovereign)  considering  that  in  all 
your  high  Courts  of  Parliament  is  nothing  entreated 
but  of  matters  of  weight  and  importance  concerning 
your  Realm,  and  your  own  Royal  estate,  it  could 
not  fail  to  let  and  put  to  silence  from  the  giving 
of  their  advice  and  counsel  many  of  your  discreet 
Commons  [except  they]  were  utterly  discharged  of 
all  doubt  and  fear  how  anything  that  should  happen 
them  to  speak,  should  happen  of  your  Highness  to  be 
taken  :  and  in  this  point  your  well-known  benignity 
putteth  every  man  in  right  good  hope.  Yet  such  is 
the  weight  of  the  matter,  such  is  the  reverend  dread 
that  the  timorous  hearts  of  your  natural  subjects  con- 
ceive towards  your  high  Majesty  (our  most  redoubted 
King  and  undoubted  Sovereign)  that  they  cannot  in 
this  point  find  themselves  satisfied,  except  your 
gracious  bounty  herein  declared  put  away  the  scruple 
of  their  timorous  minds,  and  animate  and  encourage 
them  out  of  doubt.  It  may  therefore  like  your  most 
abundant  Grace  (our  most  gracious  King)  to  give  to 


SI^THOS,  MOT(E  n 

all  your  Commons  here  assembled  your  most  gracious 
licence  and  pardon  freely,  without  doubt  of  your 
dreadful  displeasure,  every  man  to  discharge  his 
conscience,  and  boldly  in  everything  incident  among, 
declare  his  advice,  and  whatsoever  happeneth  any 
man  to  say,  it  may  like  your  noble  Majesty  of  your 
inestimable  goodness  to  take  all  in  good  part,  inter- 
preting every  man's  words,  how  uncunningly  soever 
they  be  couched,  to  proceed  yet  of  a  good  zeal 
towards  the  profit  of  your  Realm  and  honour  of  your 
Royal  person,  the  prosperous  estate  and  preservation 
whereof  (most  excellent  Sovereign)  is  the  thing 
which  we  all  your  most  humble  loving  subjects, 
according  to  the  most  bounden  duty  of  our  natural 
allegiance,  most  highly  desire  and  pray  for."  At  this 
Parliament  Cardinal  Wolsey  found  himself  much 
grieved  with  the  Burgesses  thereof,  for  that  nothing 
was  so  soon  done  or  spoken  therein,  but  that  it  was 
immediately  blown  abroad  in  every  alehouse.  It 
fortuned  at  that  Parliament  a  very  great  subsidy  to 
be  demanded,  which  the  Cardinal  fearing  it  would 
not  pass  the  Common  House,  determined  for  the 
furtherance  thereof,  to  be  there  present  himself; 
before  whose  coming  after  long  debating  there, 
whether  it  were  better  but  with  a  few  of  his  Lords 
(as  the  most  opinion  of  the  house  was)  or  with  a 
whole  train  royally  to  receive  him  there  amongst 
them,  "  Masters,"  quoth  Sir  Thomas  More,  "  foras- 
much as  my  Lord  Cardinal  lately,  you  note  well,  laid 
to  our  charge  the  lightness  of  our  tongues  for  things 
uttered  out  of  this  house,  it  shall  not  be  amiss  in  my 


12  THE  LIFE  OF 

mind  to  receive  him  with  all  his  pomp,  with  his 
maces,  his  pillars,  his  pollaxes,  his  crosses,  his  hat,  and 
great  seal  too ;  to  the  intent  that  if  he  find  the  like 
fault  with  us  hereafter,  we  may  be  the  bolder  from 
ourselves  to  lay  the  blame  upon  those  that  his  Grace 
bringeth  with  him."  Whereunto  the  House  wholly 
agreeing,  he  was  received  accordingly.  Where  after 
he  had  in  a  solemn  oration  by  many  reasons  proved 
how  necessary  it  was  the  demands  there  moved  to  be 
granted,  and  further  said  that  less  would  not  serve 
the  King's  purpose ;  he  seeing  the  company  still 
silent,  and  thereunto  nothing  answering,  and  con- 
trary to  his  expectation  showing  in  themselves 
towards  his  requests  no  towardness  of  inclination, 
said  unto  them  :  "  Masters,  ye  have  many  wise  and 
learned  men  among  you,  and  seeing  I  am  from  the 
King's  own  person  sent  hither  unto  you  for  the  pre- 
servation of  yourselves  and  all  the  Realm,  I  think  it 
meet  you  give  me  a  reasonable  answer."  Whereat 
every  man  holding  his  peace,  then  began  he  to  speak 
to  one  Mr  Marney,  who  making  him  no  answer 
neither,  he  severally  asked  the  same  question  of 
divers  others  accounted  the  wisest  of  the  company. 
To  whom  when  none  of  them  all  would  give  so 
much  as  one  word,  being  before  agreed,  as  the  cus- 
tom was,  by  their  speaker  to  make  answer  ;  "  Masters," 
quoth  the  Cardinal,  "  unless  it  be  the  manner  of  your 
house  (as  of  likelihood  it  is)  in  such  causes  to  utter  your 
minds  by  the  mouth  of  your  speaker,  whom  ye  have 
chosen  for  trusty  and  wise  (as  indeed  he  is)  here  is 
without  doubt  a  marvellous  obstinate  silence;"  and 


SI^THOS.  MOT(E  13 

thereupon  required  the  answer  of  Mr  Speaker,  who 
reverently  upon  his  knees  excusing  the  silence  of  the 
house,  abashed  at  the  presence  of  so  noble  a  personage, 
able  to  amaze  the  wisest  and  best  learned  in  a  realm, 
and  after  by  many  reasons  proving,  that  for  them  to 
make  answer  was  it  neither  expedient,  nor  agreeable 
with  the  ancient  liberty  of  the  House  ;  in  conclusion 
for  himself  showed,  that  though  they  had  all  with 
their  voices  trusted  him,  yet  except  every  of  them 
could  put  into  his  own  head  all  their  several  wits,  he 
alone  in  so  weighty  a  matter  was  unmeet  to  make  his 
Grace  answer.  Whereupon  the  Cardinal  displeased 
with  Sir  Thomas  More,  that  had  not  in  this  Parlia- 
ment in  all  things  satisfied  his  desire,  suddenly  arose 
and  departed :  and  after  the  Parliament  ended, 
uttered  unto  him  all  his  griefs,  saying,  "  Would  to 
God  you  had  been  at  Rome,  Mr  More,  when  I  made 
you  Speaker."  "  Your  Grace  not  offended,  so  would 
I  too,  my  Lord,"  quoth  he,  and  to  wind  such  quarrels 
out  of  the  Cardinal's  head,  he  began  to  talk  of  that 
gallery  at  Hampton  Court,  wherewith  so  wisely 
brake  he  off  the  Cardinal's  displeasant  talk,  the 
Cardinal  at  that  present,  as  it  seemed,  wist  not  what 
more  to  say  to  him,  but  for  revengement  of  his  dis- 
pleasure counselled  the  King  to  send  him  Ambassador 
into  Spain,  commending  unto  his  Highness  his  wis- 
dom, learning,  and  meetness  for  that  voyage,  and  the 
difficulty  of  the  cause  considered,  none  was  there  so 
well  able,  he  said,  to  serve  his  Grace  therein.  Which 
when  the  King  had  broken  to  Sir  Thomas  More, 
and  that  he  had  declared  unto  his  Grace,  how  unfit  a 


14  THE  LIFE  OF 

journey  it  was  for  him,  the  nature  of  the  country  and 
disposition  of  his  complexion  so  disagreeing  together, 
that  he  should  never  be  likely  to  do  his  Grace  accept- 
able service  therein,  knowing  right  well  that  if  his 
Grace  sent  him  thither,  he  should  send  him  to  his 
grave ;  but  showing  himself  nevertheless  ready 
according  to  his  duty,  albeit  with  the  loss  of  his  life, 
to  fulfil  his  Grace's  pleasure  therein,  the  King 
allowing  well  his  answer,  said  unto  him,  "  It  is  not 
our  meaning,  Mr  More,  to  do  you  hurt,  but  to  do  you 
good  we  would  be  glad.  We  therefore,  for  this 
purpose  will  devise  upon  some  other,  and  employ 
your  service  otherwise."  And  such  entire  favour  did 
the  King  bear  him,  that  he  made  him  Chancellor 
of  the  Duchy  of  Lancaster,  upon  the  death  of  Sir 
Richard  Winfield,  who  had  that  office  before.  And 
for  the  pleasure  he  took  in  his  company,  would  his 
Grace  suddenly  sometimes  come  home  to  his  house  at 
Chelsea  to  be  merry  with  him,  whither  on  a  time 
unlocked  for  he  came  to  dinner,  and  after  dinner  in  a 
fair  garden  of  his  walked  with  him  by  the  space  of 
an  hour  holding  his  arm  about  his  neck.  As  soon  as 
his  Grace  was  gone,  I  rejoicing,  told  Sir  Thomas 
More,  how  happy  he  was,  whom  the  King  had  so 
familiarly  entertained,  as  I  had  never  seen  him  do  to 
any  before,  except  Cardinal  Wolsey,  whom  I  saw  his 
Grace  once  walk  with  arm  in  arm.  "I  thank  our 
Lord,  son,"  quoth  he,  "  I  find  his  Grace  my  very 
good  lord  indeed,  and  I  do  believe  he  doth  as 
singularly  favour  me  as  any  subject  within  this 
Realm.  Howbeit  (son  Roper)  I  may  tell  thee,  I 


SI^THOS.  MO<I(E  15 

have  no  cause  to  be  proud  thereof.  For  if  my  head 
would  win  him  a  castle  in  France  (for  then  there  was 
wars  between  us)  it  should  not  fail  to  go."  This  Sir 
Thomas  More,  among  all  other  his  virtues,  was  of 
such  meekness,  that  if  it  had  fortuned  him  with  any 
learned  man  resorting  to  him  from  Oxford,  Cam- 
bridge, or  elsewhere,  as  there  did  divers,  some  for  the 
desire  of  his  acquaintance,  some  for  the  famous  report 
of  his  learning  and  wisdom,  and  some  for  suits  of  the 
Universities,  to  have  entered  into  argument,  wherein 
few  were  comparable  to  him,  and  so  far  to  have  dis- 
coursed with  them  therein,  that  he  might  perceive 
they  could  not,  without  some  inconvenience,  hold  out 
much  further  disputation  against  him  :  then,  least  he 
should  discomfort  them,  as  he  that  sought  not  his  own 
glory,  but  rather  would  seem  conquered  than  to  dis- 
courage students  in  their  studies,  ever  showing  himself 
more  desirous  to  learn  than  to  teach,  would  he  by 
some  witty  device  courteously  break  off  into  some 
other  matters  and  give  over.  Of  whom  for  his 
wisdom  and  learning  had  the  King  such  an  opinion, 
that  at  such  time  as  he  attended  upon  his  Highness, 
taking  his  progress  either  to  Oxford  or  Cambridge, 
where  he  was  received  with  very  eloquent  orations,  his 
Grace  would  always  assign  him  (as  one  that  was  most 
prompt,  and  ready  therein)  ex  tempore  to  make  answer 
thereunto  ;  whose  manner  was,  whensoever  he  had 
any  occasion,  either  here  or  beyond  the  sea  to  be  in 
any  University,  not  only  to  be  present  at  the  reading 
and  disputations  there  commonly  used,  but  also 
learnedly  to  dispute  among  them  himself.  Who 


16  THE  LIFE  OF 

being  Chancellor  of  the  Duchy,  was  made  ambassador 
twice  ;  joined  in  commission  with  Cardinal  Wolsey 
once  to  the  Emperor  Charles  into  Flanders,  the  other 
time  to  the  French  King  into  France.  Not  long 
after  this  the  Water  Bailiff  of  London  (sometime  his 
servant)  hearing,  where  he  had  been  at  dinner,  certain 
merchants  liberally  to  rail  against  his  old  master, 
waxed  so  discontented  therewith,  that  he  hastily  came 
to  him,  and  told  him  what  he  had  heard  :  "  and  were 
I,  Sir  "  (quoth  he)  "  in  such  favour  and  authority  with 
my  Prince  as  you  are,  such  men  surely  should  not  be 
suffered  so  villainously  and  falsely  to  mis-report  and 
slander  me.  Wherefore  I  would  wish  you  to  call 
them  before  you,  and,  to  their  shame,  for  their  lewd 
malice  to  punish  them."  Who  smiling  upon  him 
said,  "  Mr  Water  Bailiff,  would  you  have  me  punish 
them  by  whom  I  receive  more  benefit  than  by  you 
all  that  be  my  friends  ?  Let  them  a  God's  name 
speak  as  lewdly  as  they  list  of  me,  and  shoot  never  so 
many  arrows  at  me,  so  long  as  they  do  not  hit  me, 
what  am  I  the  worse  ?  But  if  they  should  once  hit 
me,  then  would  it  a  little  trouble  me  :  howbeit,  I 
trust,  by  God's  help,  there  shall  none  of  them  all  be 
able  once  to  touch  me.  I  have  more  cause,  Mr 
Water  Bailiff  (I  assure  thee)  to  pity  them,  than  to  be 
angry  with  them."  Such  fruitful  communication 
had  he  oftentimes  with  his  familiar  friends.  So  on  a 
time  walking  along  the  Thames  side  with  me  at 
Chelsea,  in  talking  of  other  things,  he  said  to  me, 
"  Now  would  to  God,  son  Roper,  upon  condition 
three  things  were  well  established  in  Christendom,  I 


SI^THOS.  MOT(E  17 

were  put  in  a  sack,  and  here  presently  cast  into  the 
Thames."  "  What  great  things  be  these,  Sir,"  quoth 
I,  "  that  should  move  you  so  to  wish  ?  "  "  Wouldest 
thou  know,  son  Roper,  what  they  be  ?  "  quoth  he. 
"  Yea  marry,  Sir,  with  a  good  will  if  it  please  you," 
quoth  I.  "  I  faith,  they  be  these,  son,"quoth  he.  "  The 
first  is,  that  whereas  the  most  part  of  Christian  princes 
be  at  mortal  wars,  they  were  at  universal  peace.  The 
second,  that  where  the  Church  of  Christ  is  at  this 
present  sore  afflicted  with  many  heresies  and  errors, 
it  were  well  settled  in  an  uniformity  of  religion.  The 
third,  that  where  the  King's  matter  of  his  marriage 
is  now  come  into  question,  it  were  to  the  glory  of 
God  and  quietness  of  all  parties  brought  to  a  good 
conclusion  :  "  whereby,  as  I  could  gather,  he  judged 
that  otherwise  it  would  be  a  disturbance  to  a  great 
part  of  Christendom.  Thus  did  it  by  his  doings 
throughout  the  whole  course  of  his  life  appear,  that 
all  his  travails  and  pains,  without  respect  of  earthly 
commodities,  either  to  himself  or  any  of  his,  were  only 
upon  the  service  of  God,  the  Prince  and  the  Realm, 
wholly  bestowed  and  employed ;  whom  in  his  latter 
time  I  heard  to  say,  that  he  never  asked  of  the  King 
himself  the  value  of  one  penny.  As  Sir  Thomas  More's 
custom  was  daily,  if  he  were  at  home,  besides  his 
private  prayers  with  his  children,  to  say  the  seven 
psalms,  litany,  and  suffrages  following,  was  his  guise 
nightly,  before  he  went  to  bed,  with  his  wife,  children, 
and  household  to  go  to  his  chapel,  and  there  upon  his 
knees  ordinarily  to  say  certain  psalms  and  collects  with 
them  :  and  because  he  was  desirous  for  godly  purposes 

B 


18  THE  LIFE  OF 

some  time  to  be  solitary,  and  sequester  himself  from 
worldly  company  ;  a  good  distance  from  his  mansion 
house  builded  he  a  place,  called  the  new  building, 
wherein  was~a  chapel,  a  library,  and  a  gallery,  in  which 
as  his  use  was  upon  other  days  to  occupy  himself  in 
prayer  and  study  together,  so  on  the  Fridays  there  usu- 
ally continued  he  from  morning  unto  evening,  spending 
his  time  duly  in  devout  prayers,  and  spiritual  exercises  ; 
and  to  provoke  his  wife  and  children  to  the  desire  of 
heavenly  things,  he  would  sometimes  use  these  words 
unto  them.  "  It  is  now  no  mastery  for  you  children 
to  go  to  heaven.  For  everybody  giveth  you  good 
counsel,  everybody  giveth  you  good  example.  You 
see  virtue  rewarded,  and  vice  punished,  so  that  you  are 
carried  up  to  heaven  even  by  the  chins.  But  if  you 
live  in  the  time,  that  no  man  will  give  you  good  counsel, 
nor  no  man  will  give  you  good  example,  when  you 
shall  see  virtue  punished,  and  vice  rewarded,  if  you 
will  then  stand  fast,  and  firmly  stick  to  God  upon  pain 
of  life,  if  you  be  but  half  good,  God  will  allow  you  for 
whole  good."  If  his  wife  or  any  of  his  children  had 
been  diseased,  or  troubled,  he  would  say  to  them, 
"  We  may  not  look  at  our  pleasure  to  go  to  heaven 
in  feather  beds,  it  is  not  the  way.  For  our  Lord  him- 
self went  thither  with  great  pain,  and  by  many  tribu- 
lations, which  is  the  path  wherein  he  walked  thither, 
and  the  servant  may  not  look  to  be  in  better  case  than 
his  Master."  And  as  he  would  in  this  sort  persuade 
them  to  take  their  troubles  patiently,  so  would  he  in 
like  case  teach  them  to  withstand  the  devil  and  his 
temptations,  valiantly  saying,  "  Whosoever  will  mark 


SI^THOS.  MO<%E  19 

the  devil  and  his  temptations  shall  find  him  therein 
much  like  to  an  ape.  For  as  an  ape  not  well  looked  to 
will  be  busy  and  bold  to  do  shrewd  turns,  and  con- 
trariwise being  spied  will  suddenly  leap  back  and 
adventure  no  farther  :  so  the  devil,  seeing  a  man  idle, 
slothful,  and  without  resistance  ready  to  receive  his 
temptations,  waxeth  so  hardy  that  he  will  not  fail  still 
to  continue  with  him,  until  to  his  purpose  he  hath 
brought  him  :  but  on  the  other  side,  if  he  see  a  man 
with  diligence  present  to  prevent  and  withstand  his 
temptations,  he  waxeth  so  weary,  that  in  conclusion 
he  forsaketh  him.  For  as  much  as  the  devil  by  dis- 
position is  a  spirit  of  nature  so  envious,  that  he  feareth 
any  more  to  assault  him,  lest  that  he  should  thereby 
not  only  catch  a  foul  fall  himself,  but  also  minister  to 
the  man  more  matter  of  merit."  Thus  delighted  he 
evermore  not  only  in  virtuous  exercises  to  be  occupied 
himself,  but  also  to  exhort  his  wife,  and  children,  and 
household  to  embrace  and  follow  the  same.  To  whom 
for  his  notable  virtue  and  godliness  God  showed,  as  he 
seemed,  a  manifest,  miraculous  token  of  his  special 
favour  towards  him,  at  such  time  as  my  wife  (as  many 
others  that  year  were)  was  sick  of  the  sweating  sick- 
ness, who  lying  in  so  great  extremity  of  that  disease, 
as  by  no  invention  or  devices,  that  physicians  in  such 
case  commonly  use  (of  whom  she  had  divers,  both 
expert,  wise,  and  well  learned,  then  continually 
attendant  upon  her)  she  could  be  kept  from  sleep  : 
so  that  both  physicians,  and  all  others  despaired  her 
health  and  recovery,  and  gave  her  over  :  her  father 
(as  he  that  most  entirely  tendered  her)  being  in 


20  THE  LIFE  OF 

no  small  heaviness  for  her,  by  prayer  at  God  his 
hands  sought  to  get  remedy,  whereupon  after  his 
usual  manner  going  up  into  his  new  lodging,  there 
in  his  chapel  upon  his  knees  with  tears  most 
devoutly  besought  Almighty  God,  that  it  would 
be  like  his  goodness,  unto  whom  nothing  was  im- 
possible, if  it  were  his  blessed  will,  at  his  mediation  to 
vouchsafe  graciously  to  hear  his  petition  ;  where  in- 
continent came  into  his  mind,  that  a  glister  should  be 
the  only  way  to  help  her,  which  when  he  had  told  the 
physicians,  they  by-and-by  confessed,  that  if  there 
were  any  hope  of  health,  that  it  was  the  very  best 
help  indeed,  much  marvelling  of  themselves,  that  they 
had  not  afore  remembered  it.  Then  it  was  immedi- 
ately ministered  unto  her  sleeping,  which  she  could 
by  no  means  have  been  brought  unto  waking,  and 
albeit  after  she  was  thereby  thoroughly  awaked,  God's 
marks,  evident  undoubted  token  of  death,  plainly 
appeared  upon  her,  yet  she  (contrary  to  all  their 
expectation)  was  (as  it  was  thought)  by  her  father's 
fervent  prayer  miraculously  recovered,  and  at  length 
again  to  perfect  health  restored,  whom  if  it  had 
pleased  God  at  that  time  to  have  taken  to  his  mercy, 
her  father  said  he  would  never  have  meddled  with 
worldly  matters  after.  Now  while  Sir  Thomas  More 
was  Chancellor  of  the  Duchy,  the  See  of  Rome 
chanced  to  be  void,  which  was  cause  of  much  trouble. 
For  Cardinal  Wolsey,  a  man  very  ambitious,  and  de- 
sirous (as  good  hope,  and  likelihood  he  had)  to  aspire 
unto  that  dignity,  perceiving  himself  of  his  expecta- 
tion disappointed  by  means  of  the  Emperor  Charles, 


SI^THOS.  MO1(E  2i 

so  highly  commending  one  Cardinal  Adrian,  sometime 
his  schoolmaster,  to  the  Cardinals  of  Rome,  in  the 
time  of  their  election  for  his  virtue  and  worthiness, 
that  thereupon  was  he  chosen  Pope,  who  from  Spain 
(where  he  was  then  resident)  coming  on  foot  to 
Rome,  before  his  entry  into  that  city  did  put  off  his 
hose  and  shoes,  barefooted  and  barelegged  passing 
through  the  streets  towards  his  palace  with  such 
humbleness,  that  all  the  people  had  him  in  great 
reverence.  Cardinal  Wolsey  waxed  so  woe  therewith, 
that  he  studied  to  invent  all  ways  of  revengement  of 
his  grief  against  the  Emperor,  which  as  it  was  the 
beginning  of  a  lamentable  tragedy,  so  some  part 
thereof  not  impertinent  to  my  present  purpose  I 
reckoned  requisite  here  to  put  in  remembrance.  This 
Cardinal  therefore,  not  ignorant  of  the  King's  uncon- 
stant  and  mutable  disposition,  soon  inclined  to  with- 
draw his  devotion  from  his  own  most  noble  and  virtuous 
wife  Queen  Katherine,  aunt  to  the  Emperor,  upon  every 
light  occasion  ;  and  upon  other,  to  her  in  nobility, 
wisdom,  virtue,  favour,  and  beauty  far  incomparable, 
to  fix  his  affection,  meaning  to  make  his  so  light 
disposition  an  instrument  to  bring  about  this  his  un- 
godly intent,  devised  to  allure  the  King  (then  already 
contrary  to  his  mind  nothing  less  looking  for  than 
falling  in  love  with  the  Lady  Anne  Bullen)  to  cast 
fancy  to  one  of  the  French  Sisters,  which  thing, 
because  of  enmity  and  war  was  at  that  time  between 
the  French  King  and  the  Emperor  (whom,  for  the 
cause  afore  remembered,  he  mortally  maligned)  he 
was  desirous  to  procure,  and  for  the  better  achieving 


22  THE  LIFE  OF 

thereof  requested  Langland,  Bishop  of  Lincoln,  and 
ghostly  father  to  the  King,  to  put  a  scruple  into  the 
King's  head,  that  it  was  not  lawful  for  him  to  marry 
his  brother's  wife  ;  which  the  King  not  sorry  to  hear 
of,  opened  it  first  to  Sir  Thomas  More,  whose  counsel 
he  required  therein,  showing  him  certain  places  of 
Scripture,  that  some  what  seemed  to  serve  his  appetite, 
which  when  he  had  perused,  and  thereupon,  as  one  that 
never  had  professed  the  study  of  Divinity  himself, 
excused  to  be  unmeet  many  ways  to  meddle  with 
such  matters :  the  King,  not  satisfied  with  this 
answer,  so  sore  still  pressed  upon  him,  therefore,  in 
conclusion  he  condescended  to  his  Grace  his  motion, 
and  further,  that  the  matter  was  of  such  importance 
as  needed  good  advice  and  deliberation,  he  be- 
sought his  Grace  of  sufficient  respect  advisedly  to 
consider  of  it ;  wherewith  the  King  well  contented 
said  unto  him ;  Tunstall  and  Clarke,  Bishops  of 
Durham  and  Bath,  with  other  learned  of  his  Privy 
Council  should  also  be  dealers  therein.  So  Sir 
Thomas  More  departing,  conferred  those  places  of 
Scripture  with  the  exposition  of  divers  of  the  old  holy 
doctors,  and  at  his  coming  to  the  Court,  in  talking 
with  his  Grace  of  the  foresaid  matter,  he  said,  "  To 
be  plain  with  your  Grace,  neither  my  Lord  of 
Durham,  nor  my  Lord  of  Bath,  though  I  know  them 
both  to  be  wise,  virtuous,  and  learned,  and  honour- 
able prelates,  nor  myself  with  the  rest  of  your 
Council,  being  all  your  Grace's  own  servants,  for 
your  manifold  benefits  daily  bestowed  on  us,  so  most 
bounden  unto  you,  be  in  my  judgment  meet 


SI^THOS.  MO<I(E  23 

counsellors  for  your  Grace  herein  ;  but  if  your  Grace 
minds  to  understand  the  truth,  such  counsellors  may 
you  have  devised,  as  neither  for  respect  of  their  own 
worldly  commodity,  nor  for  fear  of  your  princely 
authority,  will  be  inclined  to  deceive  you." 

To  whom  he  named  St  Jerome,  St  Augustine,  and 
divers  other  holy  doctors,  both  Greeks  and  Latins  : 
and  moreover  showed  him  what  authority  he  had 
gathered  out  of  them,  which  although  the  King  did 
not  very  well  like  of  (as  disagreeable  to  his  Grace's 
desire),  yet  were  they  by  Sir  Thomas  More  (who  in 
all  his  communication  with  the  King  in  that  matter 
had  always  most  wisely  behaved  himself)  so  wisely 
tempered,  that  he  both  presently  took  them  in  good 
part,  and  oftentimes  had  thereof  conference  with  him 
again.  After  this  were  there  certain  questions  pro- 
posed among  his  Council,  whether  the  King  needed, 
in  this  case,  to  have  any  scruple  at  all,  and  if  he  had, 
what  way  were  best  to  deliver  him  of  it  ?  the  most 
part  of  whom  were  of  the  opinion,  that  there  was 
good  cause,  and  that,  for  discharging  of  it,  suit  were 
meet  to  be  made  to  the  See  of  Rome,  where  the  King 
hoping  by  liberality  to  obtain  his  purpose,  wherein 
(as  after  it  appeared)  he  was  far  deceived,  then  was 
there,  for  the  trial  and  examination  of  this  matri- 
mony, procured  from  Rome  a  Commission,  in  which 
Cardinal  Campegines  and  Cardinal  Wolsey  were 
joined  Commissioners,  who,  for  the  determination 
thereof,  sat  at  the  Blackfriars  in  London.  Where  a 
libel  was  put  in  for  the  admitting  of  the  said  matri- 
mony, alleging  the  said  marriage  between  the  King 


24  THE  LIFE  OF 

and  the  Queen  to  be  unlawful,  and,  for  proof  of  the 
marriage  to  be  lawful,  was  there  brought  in  a  dispen- 
sation ;  in  which,  after  divers  disputations  thereupon 
holden,  there  appeared  an  imperfection,  which  by  an 
instrument  or  brief,  upon  search  found  in  the  treasury 
of  Spain,  and  sent  to  the  Commissioners  into  England, 
was  supplied,  and  so  should  judgment  have  been 
given  by  the  Pope  accordingly,  had  not  the  King, 
upon  intelligence  thereof,  before  the  same  judgment 
appealed  to  the  next  general  Council.  After  whose 
appellation  the  Cardinal  upon  that  matter  sat  no 
longer.  It  fortuned  before  the  matter  of  the  said 
matrimony  brought  in  question,  when  I,  in  talk  with 
Sir  Thomas  More,  of  a  certain  joy  commended  unto 
him  the  happy  estate  of  this  realm,  that  had  so 
catholic  a  Prince,  that  no  heretic  durst  show  his  face, 
so  virtuous  and  learned  a  clergy,  so  grave  and  sound  a 
nobility,  so  loving  and  obedient  subjects,  all  in  one 
faith  agreeing  together :  "  True  it  is  indeed  (son 
Roper),"  quoth  he,  and  in  commending  all  degrees 
and  estates  of  the  same  went  far  beyond  me,  "and 
yet  (son  Roper)  I  pray  God,"  said  he,  "  that  some  of 
us,  as  high  as  we  seem  to  sit  upon  the  mountains, 
treading  heretics  under  our  feet  like  ants,  live  not  the 
day,  that  we  gladly  would  wish  to  be  at  league  and 
composition  with  them,  to  let  them  have  their  churches 
quietly  to  themselves ;  so  that  they  would  be  content  to 
let  us  have  ours  quietly  to  ourselves."  After  that  I  had 
told  him  many  considerations,  why  he  had  no  cause  to 
say  so,  "  Well,  well,"  said  he,  "  I  pray  God  (son 
Roper)  some  of  us  live  not  till  that  day,"  showing 


SI^THOS.  MO1(E  25 

me  no  reason  why  I  should  put  any  doubt  therein. 
To  whom  I  said,  "  By  my  troth,  Sir,  it  is  very 
desperately  spoken,"  that  vile  term  (I  cry  God  mercy) 
did  I  give  him,  who  by  these  words  perceiving  me  in 
a  fume,  said  merrily  unto  me,  "  Well,  son  Roper,  it 
shall  not  be  so,  it  shall  not  be  so."  Whom  in 
sixteen  years  and  more,  being  in  his  house  conversant 
with  him,  I  could  never  perceive  him  so  much  as 
once  to  fume.  But  now  to  return  again  where  I 
left  :  After  supplying  of  imperfections  of  the  dis- 
pensation set  (as  before  is  rehearsed)  to  the  Com- 
missioners into  England,  the  King  taking  the  matter 
for  ended,  and  then  meaning  no  further  to  proceed 
in  that  matter,  assigned  the  Bishop  of  Durham,  and 
Sir  Thomas  More  to  go  ambassadors  to  Cambray,  a 
place  neither  Imperial  nor  French,  to  treat  a  peace 
between  the  French  King,  the  Emperor,  and  him, 
in  the  concluding  whereof  Sir  Thomas  More  so 
worthily  handled  himself  (procuring  in  our  league  far 
more  benefits  under  his  realm,  than  at  that  time  by 
the  King  and  Council  was  possible  to  be  compassed), 
that  for  his  good  service  in  that  voyage,  the  King, 
when  he  after  made  him  Lord  Chancellor,  caused  the 
Duke  of  Norfolk  openly  to  declare  unto  the  people 
(as  you  shall  hear  hereafter  more  at  large)  how  much 
all  England  was  bound  unto  him.  Now,  upon  the 
coming  home  of  the  Bishop  of  Durham  and  Sir 
Thomas  More  from  Cambray,  the  King  was  as 
earnest  in  persuading  Sir  Thomas  More  to  agree 
unto  the  matter  of  his  marriage  as  before,  by  many 
and  divers  ways  provoking  him  thereunto.  For  which 


26  THE  LIFE  OF 

cause  (as  it  was  thought)  he  the  rather  soon  after 
made  him  Lord  Chancellor,  and  further  declared  unto 
him,  that  though  at  his  going  over  the  sea  to  Cambray, 
he  was  in  utter  despair  thereof,  yet  he  had  conceived 
since  some  good  hope  to  compass  it.  For  albeit  his 
marriage,  being  against  the  positive  law  of  the  Church, 
and  the  written  law  of  God,  was  holden  by  the  dis- 
pensation, yet  was  there  another  thing  found  out  of 
late,  he  said,  whereby  his  marriage  appeared  to  be 
so  directly  against  the  laws  of  nature,  that  it  could  in 
no  wise  by  the  Church  be  dispensable,  as  Dr  Stoksely 
(whom  he  had  then  newly  preferred  to  be  Bishop  of 
London,  and  in  that  case  chiefly  credited)  was  able 
to  instruct  him,  with  whom  he  prayed  him  in  that 
point  to  confer.  But  for  all  his  conference  with  him, 
he  saw  nothing  of  such  force,  as  could  induce  him  to 
change  his  opinion  therein  ;  which  notwithstanding 
the  bishop  showed  himself  in  his  report  of  him  to  the 
King's  highness  so  good  and  favourable,  that  he 
said,  he  found  him  in  his  Grace's  cause  very  toward, 
and  desirous  to  find  some  good  matter  wherewith  he 
might  truly  serve  his  Grace  to  his  contentation. 
This  Bishop  Stoksely  being  by  the  Cardinal  not  long 
before  in  the  Star  Chamber  openly  put  to  rebuke, 
and  awarded  to  the  Fleet,  not  brooking  his  con- 
tumelious usage  and  thinking,  that  forasmuch  as  the 
Cardinal,  for  lack  of  such  forwardness  in  setting  first 
the  King's  divorce  as  his  Grace  looked  for,  was  out 
of  his  Highness'  favour,  he  had  now  a  good  occasion 
offered  him  to  revenge  his  quarrel  against  him — 
further  to  incense  the  King's  displeasure  towards  him, 


SIl^THOS.  MO^  27 

busily  travailed  to  invent  some  colourable  device  for 
the  King's  furtherance  in  that  behalf.  Which  (as 
before  is  mentioned)  he  to  his  Grace  revealed,  hoping 
thereby  to  bring  the  King  to  the  better  liking  of 
himself,  and  the  more  misliking  of  the  Cardinal. 
His  Highness  therefore  was  soon  after  of  his  office  dis- 
placed, and  to  Sir  Thomas  More  (the  rather  to  move 
him  to  incline  to  his  side)  the  same  in  his  stead 
committed.  Who  between  Dukes  of  Norfolk  and 
Suffolk  being  brought  through  Westminster  Hall 
to  his  place  in  the  Chancery,  the  Duke  of  Norfolk, 
in  audience  of  all  the  people  there  assembled,  showed, 
that  he  was  from  the  King  himself  straightly  charged 
by  special  commission  there  openly,  in  the  presence 
of  all,  to  make  declaration,  how  much  all  England 
was  beholden  to  Sir  Thomas  More  for  his  good 
service,  and  how  worthy  he  was  to  have  the  highest 
room  in  the  Realm,  and  how  dearly  his  Grace  loved 
and  trusted  him  ;  for  which,  said  the  Duke,  he  had 
great  cause  to  rejoice.  Whereunto  Sir  Thomas 
More,  among  many  other  his  humble  and  wise  say- 
ings (not  now  in  my  memory)  answered,  "  That 
although  he  had  good  cause  to  rejoice  of  his  Highness' 
singular  favour  towards  him,  that  he  had  far  above 
his  deserts  so  highly  commended  him,  yet  nevertheless 
he  must  for  his  own  part  needs  confess,  that  in  all 
things  by  his  Grace  alleged  he  had  done  no  more  than 
was  his  duty.  And  further  disabled  himself  as  un- 
meet for  that  room,  wherein,  considering  how  wise 
and  honourable  a  prelate  had  lately  before  taken  so 
great  a  fall,  he  had,"  he  said,  "  thereof  no  cause  to 


28  THE  LIFE  OF 

rejoice."  And  as  they  on  the  King's  behalf  charged 
him  uprightly  to  minister  indifferent  justice  to  the 
people  without  corruption  or  affection,  so  did  he 
likewise  charge  them  again,  that  if  they  saw  him  at 
any  time  in  anything  digress  from  any  part  of  his 
duty,  in  that  honourable  office,  then,  as  they  would 
discharge  their  own  duty  and  fidelity  to  God  and  the 
King,  so  should  they  not  fail  to  disclose  it  to  his 
Grace,  who  otherwise  might  have  just  occasion  to 
lay  his  fault  wholly  to  their  charge.  While  he  was 
Lord  Chancellor  (being  at  leisure,  as  seldom  he  was) 
one  of  his  sons-in-law  on  a  time  said  merrily  unto 
him,  "When  Cardinal  Wolsey  was  Lord  Chancellor, 
not  only  divers  of  his  privy  chamber,  but  such  also  as 
were  his  door  keepers  got  great  gain,  and  since  he 
had  married  one  of  his  daughters,  and  gave  still 
attendance  upon  him,  he  thought  he  might  of  reason 
look  for  somewhat,  where  he  indeed,  because  he  was 
ready  himself  to  hear  every  man,  poor  and  rich,  and 
keep  no  doors  shut  from  them,  could  find  none, 
which  was  to  him  a  great  discouragement.  And 
whereas  else  some  for  friendship,  some  for  kindred, 
and  some  for  profit,  would  gladly  have  his  furtherance 
in  bringing  them  to  his  presence,  if  he  should  now 
take  anything  of  them  he  knew"  (he  said),  "he 
should  do  them  great  wrong,  for  that  they  might  do 
as  much  for  themselves,  as  he  could  do  for  them : 
which  condition  although  he  thought  in  Sir  Thomas 
More  very  commendable,  yet  to  him "  (said  he) 
"  being  his  son  he  found  it  nothing  profitable." 
When  he  had  told  him  this  tale, "  You  say  well,  son  " 


SI^THOS.  MOT(E  29 

(quoth  he), "I  do  not  mislike  that  you  are  of  con- 
science so  scrupulous,  but  many  o.ther  ways  be  there 
(son),  that  I  may  do  both  yourself  good,  and  pleasure 
your  friend  also.  For  sometimes  may  I  in  words 
stand  your  friend  in  stead,  and  sometime  may  I  by  my 
letter  help  you  and  him,  or  if  he  have  a  cause  depend- 
ing before  me,  at  your  request  I  may  hear  him  before 
another,  or  if  his  cause  be  not  all  the  best,  yet  may  I 
move  the  parties  to  fall  to  some  reasonable  end  by 
arbitrament ;  howbeit,  this  one  thing  I  assure  thee  on 
my  faith,  that  if  the  parties  will  at  my  hand  call  for 
justice,  then  were  it  my  father  stood  on  the  one  side 
and  the  devil  on  the  other  side  (his  cause  being  good) 
the  devil  should  have  right.  So  offered  he  his  son 
(as  he  thought "  he  said)  "  as  much  favour  as  with 
reason  he  could  require."  And  that  he  would  for  no 
respect  digress  from  justice  well  appeared  by  a  plain 
example  of  another  of  his  sons-in-law,  Mr  Heron.  For 
when  he,  having  a  matter  before  him  in  the  Chancery, 
presuming  too  much  of  his  favour,  would  by  him  in  no 
wise  be  persuaded  to  agree  to  any  indifferent  order,  then 
made  he  in  conclusion  a  flat  decree  against  him.  This 
Lord  Chancellor  used  commonly  every  afternoon  to  sit 
in  his  open  hall,  to  the  intent,  if  any  person  had  any 
suit  unto  him,  they  might  the  more  boldly  come  to 
his  presence,  and  there  open  complaints  before  him. 
Whose  manner  was  also  to  read  every  bill  himself, 
ere  he  would  award  any  subpoena,  which  bearing 
matter  sufficient  worthy  a  subpoena,  would  he  set 
his  hand  unto,  or  else  cancel  it.  Whensoever  he 
passed  through  Westminster  Hall  to  his  place  in  the 


30  THE  LIFE  OF 

Chancery  by  the  Court  of  the  King's  Bench,  if  his 
father,  one  of  the  judges  there,  had  been  sat  ere  he 
came  he  would  go  into  the  same  court,  and  there 
reverently  kneeling  down  in  the  sight  of  them  all  duly 
ask  his  father's  blessing.  And  if  it  fortuned  that  his 
father  and  he  at  readings  in  Lincoln's  Inn  met  to- 
gether (as  they  sometime  did)  notwithstanding  his 
high  office  he  would  offer  in  argument  the  pre- 
eminence to  his  father,  though  he  for  his  office  sake 
would  refuse  to  take  it.  And  for  the  better  declara- 
tion of  his  natural  affection  towards  his  father,  he  not 
only  (when  he  lay  on  his  death-bed)  according  to  his 
duty  ofttimes  with  comfortable  words  most  kindly 
came  to  visit  him  ;  but  also  at  his  departure  out  of 
this  world,  with  tears  taking  him  about  the  neck, 
most  lovingly  kissed  and  embraced  him,  commending 
into  the  merciful  hands  of  Almighty  God,  and  so 
departed  from  him.  And  as  few  injunctions  as  he 
granted  while  he  was  Lord  Chancellor,  yet  were 
they  by  some  of  the  judges  of  the  law  misliked,  which 
I  understanding,  declared  the  same  unto  Sir  Thomas 
More,  who  answered  me,  that  they  have  little  cause 
to  find  fault  with  him  therefore.  And  thereupon 
caused  he  one  Mr  Crooke,  chief  of  the  six  clerks,  to 
make  a  docket,  containing  the  whole  number  and 
causes  of  all  such  injunctions,  as  either  in  his  time  had 
already  passed,  or  at  that  present  time  depended  in  any 
of  the  King's  Courts  at  Westminster  before  him. 
Which  done  he  invited  all  the  judges  to  dinner  with 
him  in  the  Council  Chamber  at  Westminster,  where 
after  dinner  when  he  had  broken  with  them  what 


SI^THOS.  MOT(E  31 

complaints  he  had  heard  of  his  injunctions,  and  more- 
over showed  them  both  the  number  and  causes  of 
every  of  them  in  order  so  plainly,  that,  upon  full 
debating  of  those  matters,  they  were  all  enforced  to 
confess,  that  they,  in  like  case,  could  have  done  no 
otherwise  themselves,  then  offered  he  this  unto  them, 
that  if  the  justices  of  every  court,  unto  whom  the  re- 
formation of  rigour  of  the  law,  by  reason  of  their 
office,  most  specially  appertained,  would,  upon  reason- 
able considerations,  by  their  own  discretions  (as  they 
were,  as  he  thought,  in  conscience  bound)  mitigate  and 
reform  the  rigour  of  the  law  themselves,  there  should 
from  thenceforth  by  him  no  more  injunctions  be 
granted.  Whereupon  when  they  refused  to  con- 
descend, then  said  he  unto  them  :  "  Forasmuch  as 
yourselves,  my  lords,  drive  me  to  that  necessity  for 
awarding  our  injunctions  to  relieve  the  people's 
injury,  you  cannot  hereafter  any  more  justly  blame 
me  ; "  after  that  he  had  said  secretly  unto  me  :  "  I 
perceive,  son,  why  they  like  not  so  to  do.  For 
they  see,  that  they  may,  by  the  verdict  of  the  jury, 
cast  off  all  quarrels  from  themselves  upon  them,  which 
they  account  their  chief  defence,  and  therefore  am  I 
compelled  to  abide  the  adventure  of  all  such  reports." 
And  as  little  leisure  as  he  had  to  be  occupied  in  the 
study  of  Holy  Scripture,  and  controversies  upon 
religion,  and  such  other  like  virtuous  exercises,  being 
in  manner  continually  busied  about  the  affairs  of 
the  King  and  the  Realm,  yet  such  watch  and  pain 
in  setting  forth  of  divers  profitable  works  in  defence 
of  the  true  Catholic  religion  against  heresies,  secretly 


32  THE  LIFE  OF 

sown  abroad  in  the  Realm,  assuredly  sustained  he, 
that  the  bishops,  to  whose  pastoral  cure  the  re- 
formation thereof  principally  appertained,  thinking 
themselves  by  his  travail  (wherein,  by  their  own 
confession,  with  him  they  were  not  able  to  make 
comparison)  of  their  duty  discharged,  and  considering 
that,  for  all  his  pains,  and  prince's  favour,  he  was  no 
rich  man,  nor  in  yearly  revenues  advanced  as  his 
worthiness  deserved,  therefore  at  a  convocation  among 
themselves  and  other  of  the  clergy,  they  agreed  together, 
and  concluded  upon  a  sum  of  four  or  five  thousand 
pounds  at  the  least  (to  my  remembrance)  for  his  pains 
to  recompense  him.  To  the  payment  whereof  every 
bishop,  abbot,  and  the  rest  of  the  clergy  were  after  the 
rate  of  their  abilities  liberal  contributaries,  hoping 
this  portion  should  be  to  his  contentation.  Where- 
upon Tunstall  bishop  of  Durham,  Clarke  bishop  of 
Bath,  and  (as  far  as  I  can  call  to  mind)  Vaysie  bishop 
of  Exeter,  repaired  unto  him,  declaring  how  thank- 
fully for  his  travails  to  their  discharge  in  God's  cause 
bestowed,  they  reckoned  themselves  bound  to  consider 
him.  And  that  albeit  they  could  not  according  to 
his  deserts  so  worthily  as  they  gladly  would  requite 
him  therefore,  but  reserve  that  only  to  the  goodness 
of  God,  yet  for  a  small  part  of  recompense,  in  respect 
of  his  estate,  so  unequal  to  his  worthiness,  in  the 
name  of  their  whole  Convocation,  they  presented  unto 
him  that  sum,  which  they  desired  him  to  take  in  good 
part,  who  forsaking  it,  said,  "That  like  as  it  were  no 
small  comfort  unto  him,  that  so  wise  and  learned  men 
so  well  accepted  his  simple  doing,  for  which  he  in- 


SI^THOS.  MOT(E  33 

tended  never  to  receive  reward  but  at  the  hands  of 
God  only,  to  whom  alone  was  thanks  thereof  chiefly 
to  be  ascribed  :  so  gave  he  most  humble  thanks  unto 
their  honours  all  for  their  bountiful  consideration." 
When  they  for  all  their  importune  pressing  upon  him, 
that  few  would  have  went  he  could  have  refused  it, 
could  by  no  means  make  him  to  take  it,  then  they 
besought  him  be  content,  yet  that  they  might  bestow 
it  upon  his  wife  and  children  ;  "  Not  so,  my  Lords  " 
(quoth  he),  "  I  had  liever  see  it  all  cast  into  the 
Thames,  than  I,  or  any  of  mine  should  have  thereof 
the  worth  of  one  penny.  For  though  your  offer,  my 
Lords,  be  indeed  very  friendly  and  honourable,  yet 
set  I  so  much  by  my  pleasure,  and  so  little  by  my 
profits,  that  I  would  not  (in  good  faith)  for  so  much, 
and  much  more  to  have  lost  the  rest  of  so  many  a 
night's  sleep,  as  was  spent  upon  the  same.  And  yet 
wish  I  would,  for  all  that,  upon  conditions  that  all 
heresies  were  suppressed,  that  all  my  books  were 
burned,  and  my  labour  utterly  lost."  Thus  depart- 
ing, were  they  fain  to  restore  to  every  man  his 
own  again.  This  Lord  Chancellor  albeit  he  was  to 
God  and  the  world  well  known  of  notable  virtue, 
though  not  so  of  every  man  considered,  yet  for  the 
avoidance  of  singularity  would  he  appear  no  otherwise 
than  other  men  in  his  apparel  and  other  outward 
behaviour.  And  albeit  he  appeared  honourable  out- 
wardly, and  like  one  of  his  calling,  yet  inwardly  he 
no  such  vanities  esteeming,  secretly  next  his  body 
wore  a  shirt  of  hair,  which  my  sister  More,  a  young 
gentlewoman  in  the  summer,  as  he  sat  at  supper  singly 
c 


34  THE  LIFE  OF 

in  his  doublet  and  hose,  wearing  thereupon  a  plain 
shirt  without  ruff  or  collar,  chancing  to  espy,  began  to 
laugh  at  it.  My  wife  not  ignorant  of  his  manner, 
perceiving  the  same  privily  told  him  of  it,  and  he 
being  sorry  that  she  saw  it,  presently  amended  it. 
He  used  also  sometimes  to  punish  his  body  with 
whips,  the  cords  knotted,  which  was  known  only  to 
my  wife  his  eldest  daughter,  whom  for  her  secrecy 
above  all  other  he  specially  trusted,  caused  her,  as 
need  required,  to  wash  the  same  shirt  of  hair.  Now 
shortly  upon  his  entry  into  the  high  office  of  the 
Chancellorship,  the  King  oftsoons  again  moved  him 
to  weigh  and  consider  his  greatest  matter,  who 
falling  down  upon  his  knees,  humbly  besought  his 
Highness  to  stand  his  gracious  Sovereign,  as  ever 
since  his  entry  into  his  gracious  service  he  had  found 
him,  saying,  "There  was  nothing  in  the  world  had 
been  so  grievous  to  his  heart,  as  to  remember  he  was 
not  able,  as  he  willingly  would  with  the  loss  of  one  of 
his  limbs,  for  that  matter  to  find  anything  whereby 
he  could  serve  his  Grace's  contentment,  as  he  that 
always  bare  in  mind  the  most  godly  words,  that  his 
Highness  spake  unto  him  at  his  first  coming  into  his 
noble  service,  the  most  virtuous  lesson  that  ever  prince 
taught  his  servant,  willing  him  first  to  look  unto  God, 
and  after  God  to  him,  as  in  good  faith,"  he  said,  "  he 
did,  or  else  might  his  Grace  well  account  him  his  most 
unworthy  servant."  To  this  the  King  answered, 
"that  if  he  could  not  with  his  conscience  serve  him, 
he  was  content  to  accept  his  service  otherwise,  and  use 
the  advice  of  other  his  learned  Council,  whose  con- 


SI1{  THOS.  MOT(E  35 

sciences  could  well  enough  agree  thereto,  he  would 
nevertheless  continue  his  gracious  favour  towards  him, 
and  never  with  that  matter  molest  his  conscience 
after."  But  Sir  Thomas  More  in  process  of  time 
seeing  the  King  fully  determined  to  proceed  forth  in 
the  marriage  of  Queen  Anne,  and  when  he  with  the 
bishops  and  nobles  of  the  Higher  House  of  Parliament, 
were,  for  the  furtherance  of  that  marriage,  commanded 
by  the  King  to  go  down  to  the  Common  House  to 
show  to  them  both  what  the  Universities  as  well  of 
other  parts  beyond  the  seas,  as  at  Oxford  and  Cam- 
bridge had  done  in  that  behalf,  and  their  seals  also 
testifying  the  same  :  all  which  matters,  at  the  King's 
request  (not  showingof  whatmind  himself  was  therein), 
he  opened  to  the  Lower  House  of  the  Parliament : 
nevertheless  doubting  less  further  attempts  should 
after  follow,  which,  contrary  to  his  conscience,  by 
reason  of  his  office  he  was  likely  to  be  put  unto,  he 
made  suit  to  the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  his  singular  dear 
friend,  to  be  a  mean  to  the  King,  that  he  might,  with 
his  Grace's  favour,  be  discharged  of  that  chargeable 
room  of  Chancellorship,  wherein  for  certain  infirmities 
of  his  body,  he  pretended  himself  unable  any  longer  to 
serve.  This  Duke  coming  on  a  time  to  Chelsea  to 
dine  with  him,  fortuned  to  find  him  at  church  singing 
in  the  choir  with  a  surplice  on  his  back  ;  to  whom 
after  service,  as  they  went  home  together  arm  in  arm, 
the  Duke  said,  "God  body,  God  body  (my  Lord 
Chancellor)  a  parish  clerk,  a  parish  clerk,  you  dis- 
honour the  King  and  his  office."  "  Nay,"  quoth  Sir 
Thomas  More,  smiling  upon  the  Duke,  "your  Grace 


36  THE  LIFE  OF 

may  not  think,  that  the  King,  your  master  and  mine, 
will  with  me  for  serving  God  his  Master  be  offended, 
or  thereby  count  his  office  dishonoured."  When  the 
Duke,  being  thereunto  solicited  by  importunate  suit, 
had  at  length  obtained  for  Sir  Thomas  More  a  clear 
discharge  of  his  office,  then  at  a  time  convenient,  by 
his  Highness'  appointment,  repaired  he  to  his  Grace, 
to  yield  up  unto  him  the  great  seal,  which,  as  his 
Grace  with  thanks  and  praise  for  his  worthy  service  in 
that  office  courteously  at  his  hands  received,  so  pleased 
it  his  Highness  to  say  more  unto  him,  that  for  the 
good  service  he  before  had  done  him  in  any  suit  which 
he  should  after  have  unto  him,  that  either  should  con- 
cern his  honour  (for  that  word  it  liked  his  Highness 
to  use  unto  him)  or  that  should  appertain  unto  his 
profit,  he  would  find  his  Highness  a  good  and  gracious 
lord  unto  him.  After  he  had  thus  given  over  his 
Chancellorship,  and  placed  all  his  gentlemen  and 
yeomen  with  bishops  and  noblemen,  and  his  eight 
watermen  with  the  Lord  Audley,  that  after  in  the 
same  office  succeeded  him  to  whom  also  he  gave  his 
great  barge,  then  calling  us  that  were  his  children 
unto  him,  and  asking  our  advice,  how  we  might  now, 
in  this  decay  of  his  ability,  by  the  surrender  of  his 
office  so  impaired,  that  he  could  not,  as  he  was  wont, 
and  gladly  would  bear  out  the  whole  charges  of  them 
all  himself,  from  henceforth  be  able  to  live  and  con- 
tinue together,  as  he  wished  we  should,  when  he  saw  us 
all  silent,and  in  that  case  not  ready  to  show  our  opinions 
unto  him,  "Then  will  I"  (said  he)  "show  my  poor 
mind  unto  you.  I  have  been  brought  up  at  Oxford, 


THOS.  MO<I(E  37 

at  an  Inn  of  Chancery,  at  Lincoln's  Inn,  and  in  the 
King's  Court,  so  forth  from  the  lowest  degree  to  the 
highest,  and  yet  have  I  in  yearly  revenues  little  more 
than  one  hundred  pounds  by  the  year  at  this  present 
left  me.  So  that  we  must  hereafter,  if  we  like  to  live 
together.  But  by  my  counsel  it  shall  not  be  best  for 
us  to  fall  to  the  lowest  fare  first.  We  will  not  there- 
fore descend  to  Oxford  fare,  nor  to  the  fare  of  New 
Inn,  but  we  will  begin  with  Lincoln's  Inn  diet,  where 
many  right  worshipful  and  of  good  years  do  live  full 
well,  which  if  we  find  not  ourselves  the  first  year  able 
to  maintain,  then  will  we  the  next  year  after  go  one 
step  down  to  New  Inn  fare,  wherewith  many  an 
honest  man  is  well  contented.  If  that  exceed  our 
ability  too,  then  will  we  the  next  year  after  descend 
to  Oxford  fare,  where  many  grave,  ancient,  and 
learned  Fathers  be  conversant  continually,  which  if 
our  ability  stretch  not  to  maintain  neither,  then  may 
we  yet  with  bags  and  wallets  go  a-begging  together, 
and  hoping  that  for  pity  some  good  folks  will  give 
their  charity  at  every  man's  door  to  sing  salve  Regina^ 
and  so  still  keep  company  merrily  together."  And 
whereas  you  have  heard  before  he  was  by  the  King 
from  a  very  worshipful  living  taken  unto  his  Grace's 
service,  with  whom  all  the  great  and  weighty  causes 
that  concerned  his  Highness,  or  the  Realm,  he  con- 
sumed and  spent  with  painful  cares,  travail,  and 
trouble  as  well  beyond  the  seas,  as  within  the  Realm, 
in  effect  the  whole  substance  of  his  life,  yet  with  all 
the  gain  he  got  thereby  (being  never  no  wasteful 
spender  thereof)  was  he  not  able,  after  the  resignation 


38  THE  LIFE  OF 

of  his  office  of  the  Lord  Chancellor,  for  the  mainten- 
ance of  himself,  and  such  as  necessarily  belonged  unto 
him,  sufficiently  to  find  meat,  drink,  fuel,  apparel,  and 
such  other  necessary  charges.  All  the  land  that  ever 
he  purchased  before  he  was  Lord  Chancellor,  was 
not,  I  am  well  assured,  above  the  value  of  twenty 
marks  by  the  year,  and  after  his  debts  paid  he  had  not 
I  know  (his  chain  excepted)  in  gold  and  silver  left  him 
the  worth  of  one  hundred  pounds.  And  whereas 
upon  the  holidays,  during  High  Chancellorship,  one 
of  his  gentlemen,  when  service  at  the  church  was 
down,  ordinarily  used  to  come  to  my  Lady,  his  wife's 
pew,  and  say,  "Madam,  my  Lord  is  gone,"  the  next 
holiday  after  the  surrender  of  his  office,  and  departure 
of  his  gentlemen  he  came  unto  my  Lady,  his  wife's 
pew,  himself,  and  making  a  low  curtsey,  said  unto 
her,  "  Madam,  my  Lord  is  gone."  In  the  time  some- 
what before  his  trouble,  he  would  talk  with  his  wife 
and  children  of  the  joys  of  heaven  and  the  pains  of 
hell,  of  the  lives  of  holy  martyrs,  and  of  their  grievous 
martyrdom,  of  their  marvellous  patience,  and  of  their 
passions  and  deaths,  that  they  suffered  rather  than 
they  would  offend  God,  and  what  an  happy  and  a 
blessed  thing  it  was  for  the  love  of  God  to  surfer  loss 
of  goods,  imprisonment,  loss  of  lands,  and  life  also. 
He  would  further  say  unto  them,  that  upon  his  faith 
if  he  might  perceive  his  wife  and  children  would  en- 
courage him  to  die  in  a  good  cause,  it  should  so 
comfort  him,  that  for  very  joy  thereof  it  would  make 
him  merrily  to  run  to  death.  He  showed  them  afore 
what  trouble  might  fall  unto  him  wherewith,  and  the 


SI^THOS.  MOT^R  39 

like  virtuous  talk  he  had  so  long  before  his  trouble 
encouraged  them,  that  when  he  after  fell  in  the 
trouble  indeed,  his  trouble  to  him  was  a  great  deal 
the  less,  quia  spicula  pr&visa  minus  l&dunt.  Now 
upon  this  resign ment  of  his  office  came  Sir  Thomas 
Cromwell  (then  in  the  King's  high  favour)  to 
Chelsea  to  him  on  a  message  from  the  King,  where- 
in when  they  had  thoroughly  communed  together, 
"  Mr  Cromwell "  (quoth  he),  "  you  are  now  entered 
into  the  service  of  a  most  noble,  wise,  and  liberal 
prince  ;  if  you  will  follow  my  poor  advice,  you 
shall,  in  counsel  giving  unto  his  Grace,  ever  tell 
him  what  he  ought  to  do,  but  never  tell  him 
what  he  is  able  to  do,  so  shall  you  show  yourself  a 
true  faithful  servant,  and  a  right  worthy  Councillor. 
For  if  the  lion  knew  his  own  strength,  hard  were  it 
for  any  man  to  rule  him."  Shortly  thereupon  was 
there  a  commission  directed  to  Cranmer,  then  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury  to  determine  the  matter  of  the 
matrimony  between  the  King  and  Queen  Katherine 
at  St  Alban's,  where  according  to  the  King's  mind 
that  was  throughly  finished,  who  pretending  that  he 
had  no  justice  at  the  Pope's  hands,  from  thenceforth 
sequestered  himself  from  the  See  of  Rome,  and  so 
married  the  Lady  Anne  Bullen,  which  Sir  Thomas 
More  understanding,  said  unto  me,  "  God  give  grace, 
son,  that  these  matters  within  a  while  be  not  con- 
firmed with  oaths."  I  at  that  time  seeing  no  likeli- 
hood thereof,  yet  fearing  lest  for  hisforespeaking  that 
would  the  sooner  come  to  pass,  waxed  therefore  for 
his  saying  much  offended  with  him.  It  fortuned  not 


4o  THE  LIFE  OF 

long  before  the  coming  of  the  Queen  Anne  through 
the  streets  of  London  from  the  Tower  to  Westminster 
to  her  Coronation,  that  he  received  a  letter  from  the 
Bishops  of  Durham,  Bath,  and  Winchester,  requesting 
him  to  bear  them  company  from  the  Tower  to  the 
Coronation,  and  also  to  take  £20  that  by  the  bearer 
thereof  they  had  sent  him  to  buy  him  a  gown  with, 
which  he  thankfully  received,  and  at  home  still  tarry- 
ing, at  their  next  meeting  said  merrily  unto  them, 
"  My  Lords,  in  the  letters  which  you  lately  sent  me, 
you  required  two  things  of  me,  the  one  whereof  since 
I  was  so  well  contented  to  grant  you,  the  other  there- 
fore I  thought  I  might  be  the  bolder  to  deny  you." 

In  continuance  when  the  King  saw  that  he  could 
by  no  manner  of  benefits  win  him  to  his  side,  then 
went  he  about  by  terrors  and  threats  to  drive  him 
thereunto,  the  beginning  of  which  trouble  grew  by 
occasion  of  a  certain  nun  dwelling  in  Canterbury,  for 
her  virtue  and  holiness  among  the  people  not  a  little 
esteemed,  unto  whom  for  that  cause  many  religious 
persons,  Doctors  of  Divinity,  and  divers  other  of 
good  worship  of  the  laity  used  to  resort,  who  affirm- 
ing that  she  had  revelations  from  God  to  give  the 
King  warning  of  his  wicked  life,  and  of  the  abuses  of 
the  sword  and  authority  committed  to  him  by  God, 
and  understanding  my  Lord  of  Rochester,  Bishop 
Fisher,  to  be  a  man  of  notable  virtuous  living  and 
learning,  repaired  to  Rochester,  and  there  disclosed 
unto  him  all  her  revelations,  desiring  his  advice  and 
counsel  therein,  which  the  Bishop  perceiving  might 
well  stand  with  the  laws  of  God  and  his  Church  ad- 


SI^THOS.  MO'Rg  41 

vised  her  (as  she  before  had  warning  and  intended)  to 
go  to  the  King  herself,  and  to  let  him  understand 
the  whole  circumstance  thereof,  whereupon  she  went 
unto  the  King,  and  told  him  all  her  revelations,  and 
returned  home  again.  And  in  short  space  after,  she 
making  a  voyage  to  the  Nun  of  Sion  by  the  means  of 
one  Mr  Reynolds  a  father  of  that  house  there  fortuned 
concerning  such  secrets  as  she  had  revealed  unto  her, 
some  part  whereof  seemed  to  touch  the  matter  of  the 
King's  supremacy  and  marriage  (which  shortly  there- 
upon followed)  to  enter  into  talk  with  Sir  Thomas 
More  ;  who  notwithstanding  he  might  well  at  that 
time  without  danger  of  any  law  (though  after,  as 
himself  had  prognosticated  before,  those  matters  were 
established  by  statutes  and  confirmed  by  oaths)  freely 
and  safely  have  talked  with  her  therein  ;  nevertheless, 
in  all  the  communication  between  them  (as  in  process 
of  time  it  appeared)  had  always  so  discreetly  demeaned 
himself,  that  he  deserved  not  to  be  blamed,  but 
contrariwise  to  be  commended  and  praised.  And 
had  he  not  been  one  that  in  all  his  great  office,  and 
doings  for  the  King  and  Realm  together,  had  from 
all  corruption  of  wrong  doing,  or  bribes  taking,  kept 
himself  so  clear,  that  no  man  was  able  therewith  to 
blemish  him,  it  would  without  doubt  (in  this  trouble- 
some time  of  the  King's  wrath  and  indignation  to- 
wards him)  have  been  deeply  laid  to  his  charge,  and 
of  the  King's  Highness  favourably  accepted,  as  in 
the  case  of  one  Parnell  that  most  manifestly  appeared  : 
against  whom  Sir  Thomas  More  while  he  was  Lord 
Chancellor,  at  the  suit  of  one  Vaughan  his  adversary 


42  THE  LIFE  OF 

had  made  a  decree.  This  Parnell  to  the  King's 
Highness  had  grievously  complained  that  Sir  Thomas 
More,  for  making  the  decreee,  had  of  the  same 
Vaughan  (unable  for  the  gout  to  travel  abroad  him- 
self) by  the  hands  of  his  wife  taken  a  fair  great  gilt 
cup  for  a  bribe,  who  thereupon  by  the  King's  appoint- 
ment being  called  before  the  Council,  where  that 
matter  was  heinously  laid  to  his  charge,  forthwith 
confessed,  that  forasmuch  as  that  cup  was  long  affer 
the  aforesaid  decree  brought  unto  him  for  a  new 
year's  gift,  he  upon  her  importunate  pressing  upon 
him,  therefore  of  courtesy  refused  not  to  take  it. 
Then  the  Lord  of  Wiltshire  (for  hatred  of  his  religion 
preferrer  of  this  suit)  with  much  rejoicing  said  unto 
the  Lords,  "  Lo  my  Lords,  lo,  did  I  not  tell  you  that 
you  should  find  this  matter  true  ?  "  Whereupon  Sir 
Thomas  More  desired  their  worships,  that  as  they 
had  courteously  heard  him  tell  the  one  part  of  his  tale, 
so  they  would  vouchsafe  of  their  honours  indifferently 
to  hear  the  other,  after  which  obtained,  he  further 
declared  unto  them,  that  albeit  indeed  he  had  with 
much  work  received  that  cup,  yet  immediately  there- 
upon he  caused  his  butler  to  fill  that  with  wine,  and 
of  that  cup  drank  to  her,  and  that  when  she  had 
pledged  him,  then  as  freely  as  her  husband  had  given 
it  unto  him,  even  so  freely  gave  he  the  same  unto  her 
again,  to  give  unto  her  husband  for  his  new  year's 
gift,  which  at  his  instant  request,  though  much 
against  her  will,  yet  at  length  she  was  fain  to  receive, 
as  herself  and  certain  other  there  presently  deposed 
before  them.  Thus  was  the  great  mountain  turned 


THOS.  MOT(E  43 

scarce  unto  a  mole-hill.  So  I  remember  that  another 
time  on  a  new  year's  day  there  came  unto  him  one 
Mrs  Crocker,  a  rich  widow  (for  whom  with  no  small 
pains  he  had  made  a  decree  in  the  Chancery  against 
the  Lord  of  Arundel)  to  present  him  with  a  pair  of 
gloves  and  ^40  in  angels  in  them  for  a  new  year's 
gift,  of  whom  he  thankfully  received  the  gloves,  but 
refusing  the  money  said  unto  her,  "Mistress,  since 
that  were  against  good  manners  to  forsake  a  gentle- 
woman's new  year's  gift,  I  am  content  to  receive 
your  gloves,  but  as  for  your  money  I  utterly  refuse  :  " 
so  much  against  her  mind  enforced  he  her  to  take  her 
gold  again.  And  one  Mr  Gresham  likewise  having  a 
cause  depending  in  the  Chancery  against  him,  sent 
him  for  a  new  year's  gift  a  fair  gilt  cup,  the  fashion 
whereof  he  very  well  liking  caused  one  of  his  own 
(though  not  in  his  fantasy  of  so  good  a  fashion)  yet 
better  in  value,  to  be  brought  out  of  his  chamber, 
which  he  willed  the  messenger  to  deliver  to  his 
mistress  in  recompense,  and  under  other  conditions 
would  he  in  no  wise  receive  it.  Many  things  more  of 
like  effect  for  the  declaration  of  his  innocence  and 
clearness  from  corruption,  or  evil  affection,  could  I 
here  rehearse  besides,  which  for  tediousness  omitting, 
I  refer  to  the  readers  by  these  few  fore-remembered 
examples  with  their  own  judgments  wisely  to  con- 
sider. At  this  Parliament  was  there  put  into  the 
Lords'  House  a  bill  to  attaint  the  nun,  and  divers 
other  religious  persons  of  high  treason  ;  and  the 
Bishop  of  Rochester,  Sir  Thomas  More,  and  certain 
others  of  misprision  of  treason :  the  King  presup- 


44  THE  LIFE  OF 

posing  of  likelihood  this  bill  would  be  to  Sir  Thomas 
More  so  troublous  and  terrible,  that  that  would  force 
him  to  relent  and  condescend  to  his  request,  wherein  his 
Grace  was  much  deceived.  To  which  bill  Sir  Thomas 
More  was  a  suitor  personally  to  be  received  in  his  own 
defence  to  make  answer,  but  the  King  not  liking  that, 
assigned  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury, the  Lord  Chan- 
cellor, the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  and  Mr  Cromwell,  at  a 
day  and  place  appointed  to  call  Sir  Thomas  More  before 
them,  at  which  time  I  thinking  I  had  good  oppor- 
tunity, earnestly  advised  him  to  labour  unto  these 
Lords  for  the  help  of  his  discharge  out  of  the  Parlia- 
ment Bill ;  who  answered  me,  he  would  :  and  at  his 
coming  before  them  according  to  their  appointment, 
they  entertained  him  very  friendly,  willing  him  to  sit 
down  with  them,  which  in  no  wise  he  would.  Then 
began  the  Lord  Chancellor  to  declare  unto  him  how 
many  ways  the  King  had  showed  his  love  and  favour 
towards  him,  how  fain  he  would  have  had  him  con- 
tinue in  his  office,  how  glad  he  would  have  been  to 
have  heaped  more  benefits  upon  him,  and  finally,  how 
he  could  ask  no  worldly  honour,  or  profit  at  his 
Highness'  hands,  that  were  likely  to  be  denied  him  ; 
hoping  by  the  declaration  of  the  King's  kindness  and 
favour  towards  him  to  provoke  him  to  recompense 
his  Grace  with  the  like  again,  and  unto  those  things 
that  the  Parliament,  the  Bishops,  and  Universities 
had  already  passed  to  yield  his  consent.  To  this  Sir 
Thomas  More  mildly  answered  saying,  "  No  man 
living  is  there  (my  Lords)  that  would  with  better 
will  do  the  thing  that  should  be  acceptable  to  the 


Slf^THOS.  MOT(E  45 

King's  Highness  than  I,  which  must  needs  confess 
his  manifold  benefits,  and  bountiful  goodness  most 
benignly  bestowed  on  me.  Howbeit  I  verily  hoped 
that  I  should  never  have  heard  of  this  matter  more, 
considering  that  I  have  from  time  to  time  always 
from  the  beginning  so  plainly  and  truly  declared  my 
mind  unto  his  Grace,  which  his  Highness  to  me  ever 
seemed,  like  a  most  gracious  prince,  very  well  to 
accept,  never  minding,  as  he  said,  to  molest  me  more 
therewith.  Since  which  time  any  further  thing  that 
was  able  to  move  me  to  any  change  could  I  never 
find,  and  if  I  could,  there  is  none  in  all  the  world  that 
could  have  been  gladder  of  it  than  I."  Many  things 
more  were  there  of  like  sort  on  both  sides  uttered. 
But  in  the  end  when  they  saw  they  could  by  no 
means  of  persuasions  remove  him  from  his  former 
determinations,  then  began  they  more  terribly  to 
touch  him,  telling  him  that  the  King's  Highness  had 
given  them  in  commandment  (if  they  could  by  no 
gentleness  win  him)  in  his  name  with  his  great  in- 
gratitude to  charge  him,  that  never  was  there  servant 
to  his  master  so  villainous,  nor  subject  to  his  prince 
so  traitorous  as  he.  For  he  by  his  subtle  sinister 
sleights,  most  unnaturally  procuring  and  provoking 
him  to  set  forth  a  book  of  the  assertion  of  Seven 
Sacraments,  and  in  maintenance  of  the  Pope's 
authority,  had  caused  him  to  his  dishonour  through- 
out all  Christendom  to  put  a  sword  in  the  Pope's 
hands  to  fight  against  himself.  When  they  had  thus 
laid  forth  all  the  terrors  they  could  imagine  against 
him  •  "  My  Lords  "  (quoth  he)  "  These  terrors  be 


46  THE  LIFE  OF 

the  arguments  for  children,  and  not  for  me.  But  to 
answer  that  wherewith  you  do  chiefly  burden  me,  I 
believe  the  King's  Highness  of  his  honour  will  never 
lay  that  to  my  charge.  For  none  is  there  that  in 
that  point  can  say  more  in  mine  excuse  than  his 
Highness  himself,  who  right  well  knoweth  that  I  was 
never  procurer  or  councillor  of  his  Majesty  there- 
unto, but  after  that  it  was  finished,  by  his  Grace's 
appointment,  and  consent  of  the  makers  of  the  same, 
only  a  sorter  out,  and  placer  of  the  principal  matters 
therein  contained  ;  wherein  when  I  found  the  Pope's 
authority  highly  advanced,  and  with  strong  argu- 
ments mightily  defended,  I  said  unto  his  Grace,  / 
must  put  your  Grace  in  remembrance  of  one  thing,  and 
that  is  this,  The  Pope  (as  your  Grace  knoweth}  is 
a  Prince  as  you  are,  and  in  league  with  all  other 
Christian  Princes,  that  may  hereafter  so  fall  out, 
that  your  Grace  and  he  may  vary  upon  some  points 
of  the  league,  whereupon  may  grow  some  breach  of 
amity  and  war  between  you  both  ;  I  think  it  best  there- 
fore that  that  place  be  amended,  and  his  authority  more 
slenderly  touched.  Nay  (quoth  his  Grace)  that  it  shall 
not,  we  are  so  much  bounden  unto  the  See  of  Rome, 
that  we  cannot  do  too  much  honour  unto  it.  Then 
did  I  put  him  further  in  remembrance  of  the  statute 
of  Praemunire,  whereby  a  good  part  of  the  Pope's 
pastoral  cure  here  was  paid  away.  To  that  answered 
his  Highness,  whatsoever  impediment  be  to  the  contrary, 
•we  will  set  forth  that  authority  to  the  uttermost.  For  we 
received  from  that  See  our  Crown  Imperial ;  which  till 
his  Grace  with  his  own  mouth  told  me  I  never  heard 


THOS.  MO<I(E  47 

of  before.  So  that  I  trust  when  his  Grace  shall  be 
truly  informed  of  this,  and  call  to  his  gracious  re- 
membrance my  doings  in  that  behalf,  his  Highness 
will  never  speak  of  it  more,  but  clear  me  throughly 
therein  himself."  And  thus  displeasantly  departed 
they.  Then  took  Sir  Thomas  More  his  boat  towards 
his  house  at  Chelsea,  wherein  by  the  way  he  was 
very  merry,  and  for  that  was  I  nothing  sorry,  hoping 
that  he  had  gotten  himself  discharged  out  of  the 
Parliament  Bill.  When  he  was  come  home,  then 
walked  we  two  alone  into  his  garden  together,  where 
I  desirous  to  know  how  he  had  sped,  said,  "Sir,  I 
trust  all  is  well,  because  you  are  so  merry."  "  That 
is  so,  indeed  (son  Roper)  I  thank  God  "  (quoth  he). 
"Are  you  put  out  of  the  Parliament  Bill  then?" 
said  I.  "By  my  troth  (son  Roper),"  quoth  he,  "I 
never  remembered  it."  "  Never  remembered  it, 
Sir  ? "  quoth  I.  "  A  case  that  toucheth  yourself  so 
near,  and  us  all  for  your  sake.  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it. 
For  I  verily  trusted  when  I  saw  you  so  merry,  that 
all  had  been  well."  Then  said  he,  "Wilt  thou 
know,  son  Roper,  why  I  was  so  merry  ? "  "  That 
would  I  gladly,  Sir,"  quoth  I.  "In  good  faith  I  re- 
joice, son,"  (quoth  he),  "that  I  had  given  the  devil 
so  foul  a  fall,  and  that  with  those  Lords  I  had  gone 
so  far,  as,  without  great  shame,  I  could  never  go 
back  again."  At  which  words  waxed  I  very  sad. 
For  though  himself  liked  it  well,  yet  liked  it  me  but 
a  little.  Now  upon  the  report  made  by  the  Lord 
Chancellor,  and  the  other  Lords  unto  the  King  of  all 
their  whole  discourse  had  with  Sir  Thomas  More,  the 


48  THE  LIFE  OF 

King  was  so  highly  offended  with  him,  that  he 
plainly  told  them  he  was  fully  determined  the  said 
Parliament  Bill  should  undoubtedly  proceed  forth 
against  him.  To  whom  my  Lord  Chancellor  and 
the  rest  of  the  Lords  said,  that  they  perceived  the 
Lords  of  the  Upper  House  so  precisely  bent  to  hear 
him,  in  his  own  case,  make  answer  for  himself,  that 
if  he  were  not  put  out  of  the  Parliament  Bill,  it 
would  without  fail  be  utterly  an  overthrow  of  all. 
But  for  all  this  needs  would  the  King  have  his  own 
will  therein,  or  else  he  said  that  at  the  passing  thereof 
he  would  be  personally  present  himself.  Then  the 
Lord  Audley  and  the  rest,  seeing  him  so  vehemently 
set  thereupon,  on  their  knees  most  humbly  besought 
his  Majesty  to  forbear  the  same,  considering,  that  if 
he  should  in  his  own  presence  receive  an  overthrow, 
it  would  not  only  encourage  his  subjects  ever  after 
to  contemn  him,  but  also  throughout  all  Christendom, 
redound  to  his  dishonour  for  ever,  adding  thereunto, 
that  they  mistrusted  not  in  time  to  find  some  meet 
matter  to  serve  his  Grace's  turn  better.  For  in  this 
case  of  the  nun  he  was  accounted  so  innocent  and 
clear,  that  for  his  dealing  therein  men  reckoned  him 
worthier  of  praise  than  reproof.  Whereupon  at 
length  through  their  earnest  persuasion,  he  was  con- 
tent to  condescend  to  their  petition.  And  on  the 
morrow  after,  Mr  Cromwell  meeting  me  in  the 
Parliament  House  willed  me  to  tell  my  father, 
that  he  was  put  out  of  the  Parliament  Bill.  But 
because  I  had  appointed  to  dine  that  day  in  London, 
I  sent  the  message  by  my  servant  to  my  wife  at 


SIl^THOS.  MO'HE  49 

Chelsea,  whereof  when  she  informed  her  father, '*  in 
faith  Meg  "  (quoth  he)  "  ^uod  defertur,  non  aufertur." 
After  this  as  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  and  Sir  Thomas 
More  chanced  to  fall  in  familiar  talk  together,  the 
Duke  said  unto  him,  "By  the  Mass  (Mr  More)  it  is 
perilous  striving  with  Princes,  and  therefore  I  would 
wish  you  somewhat  to  incline  to  the  King's  pleasure. 
For  by  God's  body  (Mr  More)  Indignatio  principle 
mors  est."  "  Is  that  all,  my  Lord  ? "  (quoth  he).  "  Is 
there  (in  good  faith)  no  more  difference  between 
your  Grace  and  me,  but  that  I  shall  die  to-day  and 
you  to-morrow  ? "  So  fell  it  out  within  a  month  or 
thereabout  after  the  making  of  the  Statute  for  the  oath 
of  Supremacy  and  Matrimony,  that  all  the  priests  of 
London  and  Westminster,  and  no  temporal  men  but 
he  were  sent  to  appear  at  Lambeth  before  the  Bishop 
of  Canterbury,  the  Lord  Chancellor,  and  Secretary 
Cromwell,  Commissioners,  there,  to  tender  the  oath 
unto  them.  Then  Sir  Thomas  More,  as  his  accustomed 
manner  was  always  ere  he  entered  into  any  matter 
of  importance  (as  when  he  was  first  chosen  of  the 
King's  Privy  Council,  when  he  was  sent  Ambassador, 
appointed  Speaker  of  the  Parliament,  made  Lord 
Chancellor,  or  when  he  took  any  like  weighty  matter 
upon  him)  to  go  to  the  church,  and  to  be  confessed, 
to  hear  mass,  and  be  housled  ;  so  did  he  likewise  in 
the  morning  early  the  selfsame  day  that  he  was 
summoned  to  appear  before  the  Lords  at  Lambeth. 
And  whereas  he  used  evermore  before,  at  his  departure 
from  his  house  and  children  (whom  he  loved  tenderly) 
to  have  them  bring  him  to  his  boat,  and  there  to  kiss 

D 


50  THE  LIFE  OF 

them  all,  and  bid  them  farewell,  then  would  he  suffer 
none  of  them  forth  of  the  gate  to  follow  him,  but 
pulled  the  wicket  after  him,  and  shut  them  all  from 
him,  and  with  an  heavy  heart  (as  by  his  countenance 
it  appeared)  with  me,  and  our  four  servants,  there 
took  his  boat  towards  Lambeth.  Wherein  sitting 
still  sadly  awhile,  at  the  last  he  rounded  me  in  the 
ear  and  said,  "Son  Roper,  I  thank  our  Lord,  the  field 
is  won."  What  he  meant  thereby,  then,  I  wist  not. 
Yet  loath  to  seem  ignorant  I  answered,  "Sir,  I  am 
thereof  very  glad."  But  as  I  conjectured  afterwards 
it  was  for  that  the  love  he  had  to  God  wrought  in  him 
so  effectually,  that  it  conquered  in  him  all  his  carnal 
affectations  utterly.  At  his  coming  to  Lambeth,  how 
wisely  he  behaved  himself  before  the  Commissioners, 
at  the  ministration  of  the  oath  unto  him,  may  be 
found  in  certain  letters  of  his  (sent  to  my  wife)  re- 
maining in  a  great  book  of  his  works  :  where  by  the 
space  of  four  days,  he  was  betaken  to  the  custody  of 
the  Abbot  of  Westminster,  during  which  time  the 

*  o 

King  consulted  with  his  Council  what  order  were 
meet  to  be  taken  with  him.  And  albeit  in  the 
beginning  they  were  resolved,  that  with  an  oath  not 
to  be  known  whether  he  had  to  the  supremacy  been 
sworn,  or  what  he  thought  thereof,  he  should  be  dis- 
charged, yet  did  Queen  Anne,  by  her  importunate 
clamour,  so  sore  exasperate  the  King  against  him, 
that,  contrary  to  his  former  resolution,  he  caused  the 
oath  of  the  supremacy  to  be  ministered  unto  him,  who, 
albeit  he  made  a  discreet  qualified  answer,  neverthe- 
less was  forthwith  committed  to  the  Tower,  who  as 


SI^THOS.  MO<HE  51 

he  was  going  thitherward,  wearing,  as  he  commonly 
did,  a  chain  of  gold  about  his  neck,  Sir  Richard 
Cromwell  (that  had  the  charge  of  his  conveyance 
thither)  advised  him  to  send  home  his  chain  to  his 
wife,  or  some  of  his  children,  "  Nay,  Sir  "  (quoth  he), 
"that  will  I  not.  For  if  I  were  taken  in  the  field  by 
my  enemies,  I  would  they  should  somewhat  fare  the 
better  by  me."  At  whose  landing  Mr  Lieutenant  at 
the  Tower  gate  was  ready  to  receive  him,  where  the 
porter  demanded  of  him  his  upper  garment.  "Mr 
Porter  "  (quoth  he)  "  here  it  is,"  and  took  off  his  cap 
and  delivered  him,  saying,  "  I  am  very  sorry  it  is  no 
better  for  you."  "  Nay,  Sir  "  (quoth  the  Porter),  "  I 
must  have  your  gown,"  and  so  was  he  by  Mr  Lieuten- 
ant conveyed  into  his  lodging,  where  he  called  unto 
him  one  John  Awood  his  own  servant  there  appointed 
to  attend  upon  him,  who  could  neither  write  nor  read, 
and  swore  him  before  the  Lieutenant  that  if  he  should 
hear,  or  see  him  at  any  time,  speak  or  write  any 
manner  of  thing  against  the  King,  the  Council,  or  the 
state  of  the  Realm,  he  should  open  it  to  the  Lieutenant, 
that  the  Lieutenant  might  incontinent  reveal  it  to  the 
Council.  Now  when  Sir  Thomas  More  had  remained 
in  the  Tower  a  little  more  than  a  month,  my  wife, 
longing  to  see  her  father,  by  her  earnest  suit  at  length 
gat  leave  to  go  to  him.  At  whose  coming  (after  the 
seven  psalms  and  litany  said,  which  whensoever  she 
came  to  him,  ere  he  fell  in  talk  of  any  worldly  matters, 
he  used  accustomably  to  say  with  her)  among  other 
communication  he  said  unto  her,  "  I  believe  (Meg) 
that  they  that  have  put  me  here,  ween  they  have  done 


52  <THE  LIFE  OF 

me  a  high  displeasure.  But  I  assure  you  on  my  faith, 
mine  own  dear  daughter,  if  it  had  not  been  for  my  wife 
and  you  that  be  my  children,  whom  I  account  the  chief 
part  of  my  charge,  I  would  not  have  failed, long  erethis, 
to  have  closed  myself  in  as  strait  a  room  and  straiter 
too.  But  since  I  come  hither  without  mine  own 
desert,  I  trust  that  God  of  his  goodness  will  discharge 
me  of  my  care,  and  with  his  gracious  help  supply  my 
want  among  you.  I  find  no  cause  (I  thank  God,  Meg) 
to  reckon  myself  in  worse  case  here,  than  in  mine  own 
house.  For  methinketh  God  maketh  me  a  wanton, 
and  setteth  me  on  his  lap  and  dandleth  me."  Thus 
by  his  gracious  demeanour  in  tribulations  appeared  it, 
that  all  the  troubles  that  ever  chanced  unto  him  by  his 
patient  sufferance  thereof  were  to  him  no  painful 
punishments,  but  of  his  patience  profitable  exercises. 
And  at  another  time,  when  he  at  first  questioned  with 
my  wife  a  while  of  the  order  of  his  wife  and  children, 
and  state  of  his  house  in  his  absence,  he  asked  her  how 
Queen  Anne  did:  "In  faith,  father"  (quoth  she), 
"never  better."  "Never  better,  Meg?"  quoth  he. 
"  Alas  (Meg)  alas,  it  pitieth  me  to  remember,  in  what 
misery  she  (poor  soul)  shortly  shall  come."  After 
this  Mr  Lieutenant  coming  into  his  chamber  to  visit 
him,  rehearsed  the  benefits  and  friendships  that  he  had 
many  times  received  at  his  hands,  and  how  much 
bounden  he  was  therefore  friendly  to  entertain  him  and 
make  him  good  cheer,  which  since  (the  case  standing 
as  it  did)  he  could  not  do  without  the  King's  indigna- 
tion, he  trusted  (he  said)  he  would  accept  his  good 
will,  and  such  poor  cheer  as  he  had.  £<  Mr  Lieuten- 


SI^THOS.  MO1(E  53 

ant  "  (quoth  he  again),  "  I  verily  believe,  as  you  may, 
so  are  you  my  good  friend  indeed,  and  would  (as  you 
say)  with  your  best  cheer  entertain  me,  for  the  which 
I  most  heartily  thank  you.  And  assure  yourself  (Mr 
Lieutenant),"  quoth  he,  "  I  do  not  dislike  my  cheer, 
but  whensoever  I  so  do,  then  thrust  me  out  of  your 
doors."  Whereas  the  oath  confirming  the  supremacy 
and  matrimony  was  by  the  first  statute  comprised  in 
few  words,  the  Lord  Chancellor  and  Mr  Secretary  did 
of  their  own  heads  add  more  words  unto  it,  to  make 
it  appear  to  the  King's  ears  more  pleasant  and  plaus- 
ible. And  that  oath  so  amplified  caused  they  to  be 
ministered  to  Sir  Thomas  More  and  to  all  other 
throughout  the  Realm,  which  Sir  Thomas  perceiving 
said  unto  my  wife  :  "  I  may  tell  thee  (Meg)  they  that 
have  committed  me  hither  for  refusing  of  the  oath,  not 
agreeable  with  the  statute,  are  not  able  by  their  own 
law  to  justify  my  imprisonment.  And  surely 
(daughter)  it  is  a  great  pity  that  a  Christian  prince 
should  (by  a  flexible  council  ready  to  follow  his 
affections,  and  by  a  weak  clergy  lacking  grace 
constantly  to  stand  to  their  learning)  with  flattery 
so  shameful  to  be  abused."  But  at  length  the  Lord 
Chancellor  and  Mr  Secretary,  espying  their  over- 
sight in  that  behalf,  were  fain  afterwards  to  find 
the  means  that  another  statute  should  be  made  for 
the  confirmation  of  the  oath  so  amplified  with 
their  additions.  After  Sir  Thomas  More  had  given 
over  his  office  and  all  other  worldly  doings  there- 
with, to  the  intent  he  might  from  thenceforth  the 
more  quietly  set  himself  to  the  service  of  God,  then 


54  THE  LIFE  OF 

made  he  a  conveyance  for  the  disposition  of  his  lands, 
reserving  for  himself  an  estate  thereof  only  for  the 
term  of  his  life,  and  after  his  decease  assuring  some 
part  of  the  same  to  his  wife,  some  to  his  son's  wife  for 
a  jointure,  in  consideration  that  she  was  an  inheritrix 
in  possession  of  more  than  an  hundred  pounds  land  by 
the  year,  and  some  to  me  and  my  wife  in  recompense 
of  our  marriage  money  with  divers  remainders  over, 
all  which  conveyance  and  assurance  was  perfectly 
finished  long  before  that  matter,  whereupon  she  was 
attainted,  was  made  an  offence,  and  yet  after  by 
statute  clearly  voided  ;  and  so  were  all  his  lands,  that 
he  had  to  his  wife  and  children  by  the  said  conveyance 
in  such  sort  assured,  contrary  to  the  order  of  law, 
taken  away  from  them,  and  brought  into  the  King's 
hands,  saving  that  portion  that  he  had  appointed  to 
my  wife  and  me,  which  although  he  had  in  the  fore- 
said  conveyance  reserved,  as  he  did  the  rest,  for  term 
of  his  life  unto  himself,  nevertheless,  upon  further  con- 
sideration, after  by  another  conveyance  he  gave  that 
same  immediately  to  me,  and  my  wife  in  possession. 
And  so  because  the  statute  had  undone  only  the  first 
conveyance,  giving  no  more  to  the  King  but  so  much 
as  passed  by  that,  the  second  conveyance,  whereby  it 
was  given  unto  my  wife  and  me,  being  dated  two  days 
after  was  without  the  compass  of  the  statute,  and  so 
was  our  portion  to  us  by  that  means  clearly  reserved. 
As  Sir  Thomas  More  in  the  Tower  chanced  on  a  time 
looking  out  of  his  window  to  behold  one  Mr  Reynolds, 
a  religious,  learned  and  virtuous  father  of  Sion,  and 
three  monks  of  the  Charterhouse  for  the  matter  of  the 


SI^THOS.  MOT(E  55 

supremacy  going  out  of  the  Tower  to  execution,  he, 
as  one  longing  in  that  journey  to  have  accompanied 
them,  said  unto  my  wife,  then  standing  there  beside 
him,  "  Lo,  dost  thou  not  see  (Meg)  that  these  blessed 
fathers  be  now  as  cheerful  going  to  their  deaths,  as 
bridegrooms  to  their  marriages  ?  Wherefore  thereby 
mayest  thou  see  (mine  own  good  daughter)  what  a 
difference  there  is  between  such  as  have  in  effect  spent 
all  their  days  in  a  strait,  hard,  penitential,  and  painful 
life  religiously,  and  such  as  have  in  the  world,  like 
worldly  wretches,  as  thy  poor  father  hath  done,  con- 
sumed all  the  time  in  pleasure  and  ease  licentiously. 
For  God,  considering  their  long-continued  life  in  most 
sore  and  grievous  penance,  will  not  longer  suffer  them 
to  remain  here  in  this  vale  of  misery  and  iniquity,  but 
speedily  hence  take  them  to  the  fruition  of  his  ever- 
lasting deity  :  whereas  thy  silly  father  (Meg)  that, 
like  a  most  wicked  caitiff,  hath  passed  forth  the 
whole  course  of  his  miserable  life  most  pitifully,  God, 
thinking  him  not  worthy  so  soon  to  come  to  that 
eternal  felicity,  leaveth  him  here  yet,  still  in  the 
world  further  to  be  plunged  and  turmoiled  with 
misery."  Within  a  while  after  Mr  Secretary  (com- 
ing to  him  into  the  Tower  from  the  King) 
pretended  much  friendship  towards  him,  and  for 
his  comfort  told  him,  that  the  King's  Highness 
was  his  good  and  gracious  lord  and  minded  not 
with  any  matter,  wherein  he  should  have  any 
cause  of  scruple,  from  henceforth  to  trouble  his 
conscience.  As  soon  as  Mr  Secretary  was  gone,  to 
express  what  comfort  he  conceived  of  his  words,  he 


56  THE  LIFE  OF 

wrote  with  a  coal  (for  ink  then  he  had  none)  these 
verses  following : — 

*'  Ay  flattering  fortune  look  you  never  so  fair, 
Nor  never  so  pleasantly  begin  to  smile, 
As  though  thou  ivouldst  my  ruins  all  repair 
During  my  life  thou  skalt  not  me  beguile, 
Trust  I  shall,  God,  to  enter  in  a  while 
Thy  haven  of  heaven  sure  and  uniform, 
Ever  after  thy  calm  look  I  for  no  storm." 

When  Sir  Thomas  More  had  continued  a  good 
while  in  the  Tower,  my  lady  his  wife  obtained  licence 
to  see  him,  who  at  her  first  coming  like  a  simple 
woman,  and  somewhat  worldly  too,  with  this  manner 
of  salutations  bluntly  saluted  him,  "  What  the  good 
year,  Mr  More,"  quoth  she,  "  I  marvel  that  you, 
that  have  been  always  hitherunto  taken  for  so  wise  a 
man,  will  now  so  play  the  fool  to  lie  here  in  this  close 
filthy  prison,  and  be  content  to  be  shut  up  among  mice 
and  rats,  when  you  might  be  abroad  at  your  liberty, 
and  with  the  favour  and  good  will  both  of  the  King; 

o  O 

and  his  Council,  if  you  would  but  do  as  all  the  bishops 
and  best  learned  of  this  Realm  have  done.  And  see- 
ing you  have  at  Chelsea  a  right  fair  house,  your 
library,  your  books,  your  gallery,  your  garden,  your 
orchards,  and  all  other  necessaries  so  handsomely  about 
you,  where  you  might,  in  the  company  of  me  your 
wife,  your  children,  and  household  be  merry,  I  muse 
what  a  God's  name  you  mean  here  still  thus  fondly 
to  tarry."  After  he  had  a  while  quietly  heard  her, 
with  a  cheerful  countenance  he  said  unto  her,  "I 
pray  theegood  Mrs  Alice,  tell  me,  tell  me  one  thing." 


SIl^THOS.  MOItE  57 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  (quoth  she).  "  Is  not  this  house  as 
nigh  heaven  as  mine  own  ? "  To  whom  she,  after 
her  accustomed  fashion,  not  liking  such  talk,  answered, 
"  Tille  valle  tille  vatle"  "  How  say  you  Mrs  Alice,  is 
it  not  so  ?"  quoth  he.  "  Bone  Deus^  bone  Deus,  man, 
will  this  gear  never  be  left  ? "  quoth  she.  "  Well 
then,  Mrs  Alice,  if  it  be  so,  it  is  very  well.  For  I 
see  no  great  cause  why  I  should  much  joy  of  my  gay 
house,  or  of  anything  belonging  thereunto,  when,  if  I 
should  but  seven  years  lie  buried  under  the  ground, 
and  then  arise  and  come  thither  again,  I  should  not 
fail  to  find  some  therein  that  would  bid  me  get  me 
out  of  the  doors,  and  tell  me  that  were  none  of  mine. 
What  cause  have  I  then  to  like  such  an  house  as 
would  so  soon  forget  his  master  ?  "  So  her  persuasions 
moved  him  but  a  little.  Not  long  after  came  there 
to  him  the  Lord  Chancellor,  the  Dukes  of  Norfolk 
and  Suffolk,  with  Mr  Secretary,  and  certain  others  of 
the  Privy  Council  at  two  separate  times,  by  all  policies 
possible  procuring  him  either  precisely  to  confess  the 
supremacy,  or  precisely  to  deny  it.  Whereunto  (as 
appeareth  by  his  examination  in  the  said  great  book) 
they  could  never  bring  him.  Shortly  hereupon  Mr 
Rich  (afterwards  Lord  Rich)  then  newly  the  King's 
Solicitor,  Sir  Richard  Southwell,  and  Mr  Palmer, 
servant  to  the  Secretary,  were  sent  to  Sir  Thomas 
More  into  the  Tower,  to  fetch  away  his  books  from 
him.  And  while  Sir  Richard  Southwell  and  Mr 
Palmer  were  busy  in  trussing  up  of  his  books,  Mr 
Rich,  pretending  friendly  talk  with  him, among  other 
things  of  a  set  course,  as  it  seemed,  said  thus  unto 


58  THE  LIFE  OF 

him :  "  Forasmuch  as  it  is  well  known  (Mr  More) 
that  you  are  a  man  both  wise  and  well  learned,  as 
well  in  the  laws  of  the  Realm,  as  otherwise,  I  pray 
you  therefore,  Sir,  let  me  be  so  bold  as  of  good  will  to 
put  unto  you  this  case.  Admit  there  were,  Sir," 
quoth  he,  "an  Act  of  Parliament,  that  all  the  Realm 
should  take  me  for  the  King,  would  not  you  (Mr 
More)  take  me  for  the  King  ?"  "  Yes,  Sir,"  quoth 
Sir  Thomas  More,  "  that  would  I."  "  I  put  the  case 
further  "  (quoth  Mr  Rich)  "  that  there  were  an  Act  of 
Parliament  that  all  the  Realm  should  take  me  for  the 
Pope  ;  would  then  not  you,  Mr  More,  take  me  for  the 
Pope  ?  "  "  For  answer,"  quoth  Sir  Thomas  More, 
"to  your  first  case,  the  Parliament  may  well  (Mr 
Rich)  meddle  with  the  state  of  temporal  princes  ;  but 
to  make  answer  to  your  second  case,  I  will  put  you 
this  case,  Suppose  the  Parliament  would  make  a  law, 
that  God  should  not  be  God,  would  you  then,  Mr  Rich, 
say  God  were  not  God  ?  "  "  No,  Sir,"  quoth  he, "  that 
would  I  not,  since  no  Parliament  may  make  any  such 
law."  "  No  more  "  (said  Sir  Thomas  More,  as  Mr 
Rich  reported  of  him)  u  could  the  Parliament  make 
the  King  supreme  head  of  the  Church."  Upon 
whose  only  report  was  Sir  Thomas  More  indicted  of 
treason  upon  the  Statute  in  which  it  was  made  treason 
to  deny  the  King  to  be  supreme  head  of  the  Church, 
into  which  indictment  were  put  these  words^malicious/y, 
traitorously,  and  diabolically.  When  Sir  Thomas 
More  was  brought  from  the  Tower  to  Westminster 
Hall  to  answer  the  indictment,  and  at  the  King's 
Bench  bar  before  the  judges  thereupon  arraigned,  he 


SI^THOS.  MO<F(E  59 

openly  told  them  that  he  would  upon  that  indict- 
ment have  abiden  in  law,  but  he  thereby  should  have 
been  driven  to  confess  of  himself  the  matter  indeed, 
which  was  the  denial  of  the  King's  supremacy,  which 
he  protested  was  untrue,  wherefore  thereto  he  pleaded 
not  guilty,  and  so  reserved  unto  himself  advantage  to 
be  taken  of  the  body  of  the  matter  after  verdict,  to 
avoid  that  indictment.  And  moreover  added,  "  if 
those  only  odious  terms,  maliciously,  traitorously^  and 
diabolically  were  put  out  of  the  indictment,  he  saw 
nothing  therein  justly  to  charge  him."  And  for  proof 
to  the  jury  that  Sir  Thomas  More  was  guilty  to  this 
treason,  Mr  Rich  was  called  by  them  to  give  evidence 
unto  them,  as  he  did  ;  against  whom  Sir  Thomas 
More  began  in  this  wise  to  say  :  "  If  I  were  a  man 
(my  Lords)  that  did  not  regard  an  oath,  I  need  not 
(as  it  is  well  known)  in  this  place,  at  this  time,  nor  in 
this  case  to  stand  as  an  accused  person.  And  if  this 
oath  of  yours  (Mr  Rich)  be  true,  then  pray  I  that  I 
may  never  see  God  in  the  face,  which  I  would  not 
say,  were  it  otherwise,  to  win  the  whole  world." 
Then  recited  he  unto  the  discourse  of  all  their  com- 
munication in  the  Tower  according  to  the  truth,  and 
said,  "  In  faith,  Mr  Rich,  I  am  sorrier  for  your  per- 
jury than  for  mine  own  peril,  and  you  shall  understand 
that  neither  I,  nor  no  man  else  to  my  knowledge  ever 
took  you  to  be  a  man  of  such  credit  as  in  any  matter 
of  importance  I,  or  any  other  would  at  any  time  vouch- 
safe to  communicate  with  you.  And  (as  you  know) 
of  no  small  while  I  have  been  acquainted  with  you 
and  your  conversation,  who  have  known  you  from 


60  THE  LIFE  OF 

your  youth  hitherto.  For  we  long  dwelled  both  in 
one  parish  together,  where,  as  yourself  can  tell  (I  am 
sorry  you  compel  me  so  to  say)  you  were  esteemed 
very  light  of  your  tongue,  a  great  dicer,  and  of  not 
commendable  fame.  And  so  in  your  house  at  the 
Temple  (where  hath  been  your  chief  bringing  up) 
were  you  likewise  accounted.  Can  it  therefore  seem 
likely  unto  your  honourable  Lordships,  that  I  would, 
in  so  weighty  a  cause,  so  far  overshoot  myself,  as  to 
trust  Mr  Rich  (a  man  of  me  always  reputed  for  one 
of  so  little  truth,  as  your  Lordships  have  heard)  so  far 
above  my  sovereign  Lord  the  King,  or  any  of  his 
noble  councillors,  that  I  would  unto  him  utter  the 
secrets  of  my  conscience  touching  the  King's  supre- 
macy, the  special  point  and  only  mark  at  my  hands  so 
long  sought  for  ?  A  thing  which  I  never  did,  nor 
never  would,  after  the  Statute  thereof  made,  reveal  it, 
either  to  the  King's  Highness  himself  or  to  any  of  his 
honourable  councillors,  as  it  is  not  unknown  unto 
your  house,  at  sundry  times,  and  several,  sent  from 
his  Grace's  own  person  unto  the  Tower  to  me  for 
none  other  purpose.  Can  this  in  your  judgments 
(my  Lords)  seem  likely  to  be  true  ?  And  if  I  had  so 
done  indeed,  my  Lords,  as  Mr  Rich  hath  sworn,  see- 
ing it  was  spoke  but  in  familiar  secret  talk,  nothing 
affirming,  and  only  in  putting  of  cases,  without  other 
displeasant  circumstances,  it  cannot  justly  be  taken 
to  be  spoken  maliciously.  And  where  there  is  no 
malice  there  can  be  no  offence.  And  over  this  I  can 
never  think  (my  Lords)  that  so  many  worthy  bishops, 
so  many  honourable  personages,  and  many  other  wor- 


SII^THOS.  MQtRE  61 

shipful,  virtuous,  wise,  and  well-learned  men,  as  at  the 
making  of  that  law  were  in  the  Parliament  assembled, 
ever  meant  to  have  any  man  punished  by  death,  in  whom 
there  could  be  found  no  malice,  taking  malitta  pro 
malevolentia.  For  if  malitia  be  generally  taken  for  sin, 
no  man  is  there  then  that  can  thereof  excuse  himself. 
Quia  si  dixerimus  quod  peccatum  non  habemus,  nosmetipsos 
seducimus,  et  veritas  in  nobis  non  est.  And  only  this 
word  maliciously  is  in  the  Statute  material,  as  this  term 
forcible  is  in  the  statute  of  forcible  entries  ;  by  which 
statute  if  a  man  enter  peaceably,  and  put  not  his 
adversary  out  forcibly,  it  is  no  offence,  but  if  he  put 
him  out  forcibly,  then  by  that  statute  it  is  an  offence. 
And  so  shall  he  be  punished  by  this  term  forcible. 
Besides  this,  the  manifold  goodness  of  my  sovereign 
Lord  the  King's  Highness  himself,  that  hath  been  so 
many  ways  my  singular  good  Lord  and  Gracious 
Sovereign,  that  hath  so  dearly  loved  me,  and  trusted 
me  even  at  my  first  coming  into  his  noble  service 
with  the  dignity  of  his  honourable  Privy  Council, 
vouchsafing  to  admit  me  to  offices  of  great  credit,  and 
worship  most  liberally  advanced  me,  and  finally  with 
that  weighty  room  of  his  Grace's  high  Chancellorship 
(the  like  whereof  he  never  did  to  temporal  man 
before)  next  to  his  own  royal  person  the  highest 
officer  in  this  noble  realm,  so  far  above  my  merits  or 
qualities  able  and  meet  therefore,  of  his  incomparable 
benignity  honoured  and  exalted  me  by  the  space  of 
twenty  years  and  more,  showing  his  continual  favour 
towards  me  ;  and  (until,  at  mine  own  poor  suit,  it 
pleased  his  Highness,  giving  me  licence,  with  his 


62  THE  LIFE  OF 

Majesty's  favour,  to  bestow  the  residue  of  my  life 
wholly  for  the  provision  of  my  soul  in  the  service  of 
God,  of  his  special  goodness  thereof  to  discharge  and 
unburden  me)  most  benignly  heaped  honours  more 
and  more  upon  me ;  all  this  his  Highness'  goodness, 
I  say,  so  long  continued  towards  me,  were,  in  my 
mind  (my  Lords),  matter  sufficient  to  convince  this 
slanderous  surmise  (by  this)  man  so  wrongfully 
imagined  against  me."  Mr  Rich  seeing  himself  so 
disproved,  and  his  credit  so  foully  defaced,  caused  Sir 
Richard  Southwell  and  Mr  Palmer,  that  at  that  time 
of  their  communication  were  in  the  chamber,  to  be 
sworn  what  words  had  passed  betwixt  them.  Where- 
upon Mr  Palmer  on  his  deposition  said,  that  he  was 
so  busy  about  the  trussing  up  Sir  Thomas  More's 
books  in  a  sack,  that  he  took  no  heed  to  their  talk. 
Sir  Richard  Southwell  likewise  upon  his  deposition 
said,  that  because  he  was  appointed  only  to  look  to 
the  conveyance  of  his  books,  he  gave  no  ear  unto 
them.  After  this,  were  there  many  other  reasons 
(not  now  in  my  remembrance)  by  Sir  Thomas  More 
in  his  own  defence  alleged,  to  the  discredit  of  Mr 
Rich  his  foresaid  evidence,  and  proof  of  the  clearness 
of  his  own  conscience.  All  which  notwithstanding 
the  jury  found  him  guilty,  and  incontinent  upon  the 
verdict  the  Lord  Chancellor  (for  that  matter  chief 
commissioner)  beginning  in  judgment  against  him, 
Sir  Thomas  More  said  to  him,  "  My  Lord,  when  I 
was  towards  the  law,  the  manner  in  such  case  was  to 
ask  the  prisoner  before  judgment,  why  judgment 
should  not  be  given  against  him  ?  "  Whereupon  the 


SI^THOS.  MO<I(E  63 

Lord  Chancellor  staying  his  judgment,  wherein  he 
had  partly  proceeded,  demanded  of  him  what  he  was 
able  to  say  to  the  contrary  ?  Who  then  in  this  sort 
mildly  made  answer:  "Forasmuch  as,  my  Lord" 
(quoth  he),  "  this  indictment  is  grounded  upon  an 
Act  of  Parliament,  directly  oppugnant  to  the  laws  of 
God  and  his  holy  Church,  the  supreme  government  of 
which,  or  of  any  part  thereof,  may  no  temporal  prince 
presume  by  any  law  to  take  upon  him  as  rightfully 
belonging  to  the  See  of  Rome,  a  spiritual  pre-emin- 
ence by  the  mouth  of  our  Saviour  himself,  personally 
present  upon  the  earth,  to  St  Peter  and  his  successors, 
bishops  of  the  same  see,  by  special  prerogative,  granted, 
it  is  therefore  in  law  amongst  Christian  men  insufficient 
to  charge  any  Christian."  And  for  proof  thereof  like  as 
amongst  divers  other  reasons  and  authorities  he  de- 
clared That  this  Realm,  being  but  one  member  and 
small  part  of  the  Churchy  might  not  make  a  particular 
law  dischargeable  with  the  general  law  of  Christ's  holy 
Catholic  Church,  no  more  than  the  City  of  London, 
being  but  one  poor  member  in  respect  of  the  whole 
Realm,  might  make  a  law  against  an  Act  of  Parlia- 
ment to  bind  the  whole  Realm  unto  :  so  further 
showed  he,  that  it  was  contrary  both  to  the  laws  and 
statutes  of  this  land,  yet  unrepealed,  as  they  might 
evidently  perceive  in  Magna  charta,  Quod  Ecclesia 
Anglicana  libera  sit  et  habeat  omnia  jura  sua  Integra,  et 
libertates  suas  illtesas,  and  contrary  to  that  sacred  oath 
which  the  King's  Highness  himself,  and  every  other 
Christian  prince  always  at  their  coronations  received, 
alleging  moreover,  that  no  more  might  this  Realm  of 


64  THE  LIFE  OF 

England  refuse  obedience  to  the  See  of  Rome,  than 
might  the  child  refuse  obedience  to  his  natural  father. 
For  as  St  Paul  said  of  the  Corinthians,  "  I  have  re- 
generated you  my  children  in  Christ,"  so  might  St 
Gregory  Pope  of  Rome  (of  whom  by  St  Augustine  his 
messenger  we  first  received  the  Christian  faith)  of  us 
English  men  truly  say,  "  You  are  my  children,  because 
I  have  given  to  you  everlasting  salvation,  a  far  better 
inheritance  than  any  carnal  father  can  leave  unto  his 
child,  and  by  spiritual  generation  have  made  you  my 
spiritual  children  in  Christ."  Then  was  it  thereunto 
by  the  Lord  Chancellor  answered,  that  seeing  all  the 
bishops,  universities,  and  best  learned  men  of  the 
Realm  had  to  this  Act  agreed,  it  was  much  marvelled 
that  he  alone  against  them  all  would  so  stiffly  stick 
and  vehemently  argue  there  against.  To  that  Sir 
Thomas  More  replied  saying,  "If  the  number  of 
bishops  and  universities  be  so  material,  as  your  Lord- 
ships seemeth  to  take  it,  then  see  I  little  cause  (my 
Lords)  why  that  thing  in  my  conscience  should  make 
any  change.  For  I  nothing  doubt,  but  that  though 
not  in  this  Realm,  yet  in  Christendom  about  they  be 
not  the  least  part,  that  be  of  my  mind  therein.  But 
if  I  should  speak  of  those  that  be  already  dead  (of 
whom  many  be  now  saints  in  heaven)  I  am  very  sure 
it  is  the  far  greater  part  of  them,  that  all  the  while 
they  lived,  thought  in  this  case  that  way  that  I  think 
now.  And  therefore  am  I  not  bound  (my  Lords)  to 
conform  my  conscience  to  the  council  of  one  realm 
against  the  General  Council  of  Christendom."  Now 
when  Sir  Thomas  More,  for  the  avoiding  of  the  in- 


SI^THOS.  MO1(E  65 

dictment,  had  taken  as  many  exceptions  as  he  thought 
meet  and  more  reasons  than  I  can  now  remember 
alleged,  the  Lord  Chancellor,  loath  to  have  the  burden 
of  the  judgment  wholly  to  depend  upon  himself,  then 
openly  asked  the  advice  of  the  Lord  Fitz-James,  then 
the  Lord  Chief  Justice  of  the  King's  Bench,  and 
joined  in  commission  with  him,  whether  this  indict- 
ment were  sufficient  or  not  ?  Who  like  a  wise  man 
answered,  "  My  Lords  all,  by  St  Julian  "  (that  was 
ever  his  oath)  "  I  must  needs  confess,  that  if  the 
Act  of  Parliament  be  not  unlawful,  then  is  not  the 
indictment  in  my  conscience  insufficient."  Where- 
upon the  Lord  Chancellor  said  to  the  rest  of  the  Lords, 
"  Lo,  my  Lords,  lo,  you  hear  what  my  Lord  Chief 
Justice  saith,"  and  so  immediately  gave  the  judgment 
against  him.  After  which  ended,  the  commissioners 
yet  courteously  offered  him,  if  he  had  anything  else 
to  allege  for  his  defence  to  grant  him  favourable 
audience,  who  answered,  "  More  have  I  not  to  say 
(my  Lords)  but  like  as  the  blessed  Apostle  St  Paul,  as 
we  read  in  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  was  present,  and 
consented  to  the  death  of  St  Stephen,  and  kept  their 
clothes  that  stoned  him  to  death,  and  yet  be  they 
now  both  twain  holy  saints  in  heaven,  and  shall  con- 
tinue there  friends  for  ever,  so  I  verily  trust  and  shall 
therefore  right  heartily  pray,  that  though  your  Lord- 
ships have  now  in  earth  been  judges  to  my  con- 
demnation, we  may  yet  hereafter  in  heaven  merrily 
all  meet  together  to  our  everlasting  salvation." 
Thus  much  touching  Sir  Thomas  More's  arraignment, 
being  not  thereat  present  myself,  have  I  by  the 

E 


66  THE  LIFE  OF 

credible  report  of  Sir  Anthony  Sumtleger  Knight, 
and  partly  of  Sir  Richard  Hey  wood,  and  John  Webb 
Gentleman,  with  others  of  good  credit,  at  the  hearing 
thereof  present  themselves,  as  far  forth  as  my  poor 
wit  and  memory  would  serve  me,  here  truly  rehearsed 
unto  you.  Now  after  this  arraignment  departed  he 
from  the  bar  to  the  Tower  again,  led  by  Sir  William 
Kingston,  a  tall,  strong,  and  comely  knight,  Con- 
stable of  the  Tower,  his  very  dear  friend,  who  when 
he  had  brought  him  from  Westminster  to  the  Old 
Swan  towards  the  Tower,  there  with  a  heavy  heart, 
the  tears  running  down  his  cheeks,  bade  him  fare- 
well. Sir  Thomas  More  seeing  him  so  sorrowful, 
comforted  him  with  as  good  words  as  he  could,  saying, 
"Good  Mr  Kingston,  trouble  not  yourself,  but  be  of 
good  cheer.  For  I  will  pray  for  you,  and  my  good 
Lady  your  wife,  that  we  may  meet  in  heaven  to- 
gether, where  we  shall  be  merry  for  ever  and  ever." 
Soon  after  Sir  William  Kingston  talking  with  me  of 
Sir  Thomas  More,  said,  "In  faith  Mr  Roper  I  was 
ashamed  of  myself,  that  at  my  departure  from  your 
father,  I  found  my  heart  so  feeble,  and  his  so  strong, 
that  he  was  fain  to  comfort  me  which  should  rather 
have  comforted  him."  When  Sir  Thomas  More 
came  from  Westminster  to  the  Towerward  again,  his 
daughter  my  wife,  desirous  to  see  her  father,  whom 
she  thought  she  should  never  see  in  this  world  after, 
and  also  to  have  his  final  blessing,  gave  attendance 
about  the  Tower  wharf,  where  she  knew  he  should 
pass  by,  ere  he  could  enter  into  the  Tower.  There 
tarrying  for  his  coming  home,  as  soon  as  she  saw  him, 


SI^THOS.  MO<%E  67 

after  his  blessings  on  her  knees  reverently  received, 
she,  hasting  towards,  without  consideration  of  care  of 
herself,  pressing  in  amongst  the  midst  of  the  throng 
and  the  Company  of  the  Guard,  that  with  halbards 
and  bills  were  round  about  him,  hastily  ran  to  him,  and 
there  openly  in  the  sight  of  all  them  embraced 
and  took  him  about  the  neck  and  kissed  him,  who 
well  liking  her  most  daughterly  love  and  affection 
towards  him,  gave  her  his  fatherly  blessing,  and  many 
godly  words  of  comfort  besides,  from  whom  after  she 
was  departed,  she  not  satisfied  with  the  former  sight 
of  her  dear  father,  having  respect  neither  to  herself, 
nor  to  the  press  of  the  people  and  multitude  that 
were  about  him,  suddenly  turned  back  again,  and  ran 
to  him  as  before,  took  him  about  the  neck,  and  divers 
times  together  most  lovingly  kissed  him,  and  at  last 
with  a  full  heavy  heart  was  fain  to  depart  from  him  ; 
the  beholding  whereof  was  to  many  of  them  that 
were  present  thereat  so  lamentable,  that  it  made 
them  for  very  sorrow  to  mourn  and  weep.  So  re- 
mained Sir  Thomas  More  in  the  Tower  more  than  a 
seven-night  after  his  judgment.  From  whence  the 
day  before  he  suffered  he  sent  his  shirt  of  hair,  not 
willing  to  have  it  seen,  to  my  wife,  his  dearly  beloved 
daughter,  and  a  letter,  written  with  a  coal,  contained 
in  the  foresaid  book  of  his  works,  plainly  expressing 
the  fervent  desire  he  had  to  suffer  on  the  morrow  in 
these  words :  "  I  cumber  you,  good  Margaret, 
much,  but  I  would  be  sorry  if  it  should  be  any 
longer  than  to-morrow.  For  to-morrow  is  St 
Thomas'  even,  and  the  Octave  of  St  Peter,  and  there- 


68  THE  LIFE  OF 

fore  to-morrow  long  I  to  go  to  God,  that  were  a  day 
very  meet  and  convenient  for  me.  And  I  never  liked 
your  manners  better,  than  when  you  kissed  me  last. 
For  I  like  when  daughterly  love,  and  dear  charity  hath 
no  leisure  to  look  to  worldly  courtesy."  And  so  upon 
the  next  morning,  being  Tuesday,  St  Thomas'  even, 
and  the  Octave  of  St  Peter  in  the  year  of  our  Lord 
God  1537,  according  as  he  in  his  letter  the  day  before 
had  wished,  early  in  the  morning  came  to  him  Sir 
Thomas  Pope,  his  singular  friend,  on  message  from 
the  King  and  his  Council,  that  he  should  before  nine 
of  the  clock  in  the  same  morning  suffer  death,  and 
that  therefore  forthwith  he  should  prepare  himself 
thereto.  "  Mr  Pope,"  saith  he, "  for  your  good  tidings 
I  most  heartily  thank  you.  I  have  been  always  bounden 
much  to  the  King's  Highness  for  the  benefits  and 
honours  which  he  hath  still  from  time  to  time  most 
bountifully  heaped  upon  me,  and  yet  more  bounded  I 
am  to  his  Grace  for  putting  me  into  this  place,  where  I 
have  had  convenient  time  and  space  to  have  remem- 
brance of  my  end,  and  so  help  me  God  most  of  all, 
Mr  Pope,  am  I  bound  to  his  Highness,  that  it  pleased 
him  so  shortly  to  rid  me  of  the  miseries  of  this  wretched 
world.  And  therefore  will  I  not  fail  most  earnestly 
to  pray  for  his  Grace  both  here,  and  also  in  another 
world."  "  The  King's  pleasure  is  further,"  quoth 
Mr  Pope,  "  that  at  your  execution  you  shall  not  use 
many  words."  "  Mr  Pope "  (quoth  he),  "  you  do 
well  that  you  give  me  warning  of  his  Grace's  pleasure. 
For  otherwise  had  I  purposed  at  that  time  somewhat 
to  have  spoken,  but  of  no  matter  wherewith  his  Grace, 


SI^THOS.  MOT(E  69 

or  any  other  should  have  had  cause  to  be  offended. 
Nevertheless  whatsoever  I  intend  I  am  ready  obedi- 
ently to  conform  myself  to  his  Grace's  commandment. 
And  I  beseech  you,  good  Mr  Pope,  to  be  a  mean 
unto  his  Highness,  that  my  daughter  Margaret  may 
be  present  at  my  burial."  "  The  King  is  well  con- 
tented already  "  (quoth  Mr  Pope)  "  that  your  wife, 
children,  and  other  friends  shall  have  free  liberty  to 
be  present  thereat."  "  O  how  much  beholden,"  then 
said  Sir  Thomas  More,  "  am  I  to  his  Grace,  that  unto 
my  poor  burial  vouchsafeth  to  have  so  gracious  con- 
sideration." Wherewithal  Mr  Pope  taking  his  leave 
of  him  could  not  refrain  from  weeping,  which  Sir 
Thomas  More  perceiving,  comforted  him  in  this 
wise,  "  Quiet  yourself,  good  Mr  Pope,  and  be  not 
discomforted.  For  I  trust  that  we  shall  once  in 
heaven  see  each  other  full  merrily,  where  we  shall 
be  sure  to  live  and  love  together  in  joyful  bliss 
eternally."  Upon  whose  departure  Sir  Thomas  More, 
as  one  that  had  been  invited  to  a  solemn  feast,  changed 
himself  into  his  best  apparel  ;  which  Mr  Lieutenant 
espying,  advised  him  to  put  it  off,  saying,  That  he 
that  should  have  it  was  but  a  worthless  fellow.  "  What 
Mr  Lieutenant  "  (quoth  he),  "  shall  I  account  him  a 
worthless  fellow,  that  will  do  me  this  day  so  singular 
a  benefit  ?  Nay,  I  assure  you,  were  it  cloth  of  gold 
I  would  account  it  well  bestowed  on  him,  as  St  Cyprian 
did,  who  gave  his  executioner  thirty  pieces  of  gold." 
And  albeit  at  length,  through  Mr  Lieutenant's  per- 
suasions, he  altered  his  apparel,  yet,  after  the  example 
of  that  holy  martyr  St  Cyprian,  did  he  of  that  little 


70  THE  LIFE  OF 

money  that  was  left  him,  send  one  angel  of  gold  to 
his  executioner.  And  so  was  he  brought  by  Mr 
Lieutenant  out  of  the  Tower,  and  from  thence  led 
towards  the  place  of  execution,  where  going  up  the 
scaffold,  which  was  so  weak  that  it  was  ready  to  fall, 
he  said  to  Mr  Lieutenant,  u  I  pray  you,  I  pray  you, 
Mr  Lieutenant,  see  me  safe  up,  and  for  my  coming 
down  let  me  shift  for  myself."  Then  desired  he  all 
the  people  thereabouts  to  pray  for  him,  and  to  bear 
witness  with  him,  that  he  should  then  suffer  death  in 
and  for  the  faith  of  the  holy  Catholic  Church,  which 
done  he  kneeled  down,  and  after  his  prayers  said,  he 
turned  to  the  executioner,  and  with  a  cheerful  counten- 
ance spake  unto  him,  "  Pluck  up  thy  spirits,  man,  and 
be  not  afraid  to  do  thine  office,  my  neck  is  very  short. 
Take  heed  therefore  thou  shoot  not  awry  for  saving 
thine  honesty."  So  passed  Sir  Thomas  More  out  of 
this  world  to  God  upon  the  very  same  day  in  which 
himself  had  most  desired.  Soon  after  whose  death 
came  intelligence  thereof  to  the  Emperor  Charles, 
whereupon  he  sent  for  Sir  Thomas  Eliott,  our  English 
Ambassador,  and  said  unto  him,  "  My  Lord 
Ambassador,  we  understand  that  the  King  your  master 
hath  put  his  faithful  servant  and  grave  wise  coun- 
cillor Sir  Thomas  More  to  death."  Whereunto  Sir 
Thomas  Eliott  answered,  that  he  understood  nothing 
thereof.  <£  Well,"  said  the  Emperor,  "  it  is  very  true, 
and  this  will  we  say,  that  if  we  had  been  master  of  such 
a  servant,  of  whose  doings  ourselves  have  had  these 
many  years  no  small  experience,  we  would  rather  have 
lost  the  best  city  of  our  dominions,  than  have  lost 


THOS.  MO<%E  71 


such  a  worthy  councillor."  Which  matter  was 
by  Sir  Thomas  Eliott  to  myself,  to  my  wife,  to 
Mr  Clement  and  his  wife,  to  Mr  John  Haywood  and 
his  wife,  and  divers  others  of  his  friends  accordingly 
reported. 


Chelsea,  June  iSth. 

ON  asking  Mr  Gunnel  to  what  Use  I  should  put  this 
fayr  Libel/us,  he  did  suggest  my  making  it  a  Kinde 
of  family  Register,  wherein  to  note  the  more  import- 
ant of  our  domestick  Passages,  whether  of  Joy 
or  Griefe — my  Father's  Journies  and  Absences — the 
Visits  of  learned  Men,  theire  notable  Sayings,  etc. 
u You  are  ready  at  the  Pen,  Mistress  Margaret"  he 
was  pleased  to  say  ;  "  and  I  woulde  humblie  advise 
your  journalling  in  the  same  fearless  Manner  in  the 
which  you  framed  that  Letter  which  soe  well  pleased 
the  Bishop  of  Exeter,  that  he  sent  you  a  Portugal 
Piece.  'Twill  be  well  to  write  it  in  English,  which 
'tis  expedient  for  you  not  altogether  to  negleckt, 
even  for  the  more  honourable  Latin. 

Methinks  I  am  close  upon  Womanhood.  .  .  . 
"  Humblie  advise,"  quotha  !  to  me  that  have  so  oft 
humblie  sued  for  his  Pardon,  and  sometimes  in 
vayn  ! 

'Tis  well  to  make  trial  of  Gonellus  his  "  humble  " 
Advice  :  albeit,  our  daylie  Course  is  so  methodicall, 
that  'twill  afford  scant  Subject  for  the  Pen — Vitam 
continet  una  Dies. 

73 


74  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

.  .  .  As  I  traced  the  last  Word,  methoughte  I 
heard  the  well-known  Tones  of  Erasmus  his  pleasant 
Voyce ;  and,  looking  forthe  of  my  Lattice,  did  in- 
deede  beholde  the  deare  little  Man  coming  up  from 
the  River  Side  with  my  Father,  who,  because  of  the 
Heat,  had  given  his  Cloak  to  a  tall  Stripling  behind 
him  to  bear.  I  flew  up  Stairs,  to  advertise  Mother, 
who  was  half  in  and  half  out  of  her  grogram  Gown, 
and  who  stayed  me  to  clasp  her  Owches ;  so  that,  by 
the  Time  I  had  followed  her  down  Stairs,  we  founde 
'em  alreadie  in  the  Hall. 

So  soon  as  I  had  kissed  their  Hands,  and  obtayned 
their  Blessings,  the  tall  Lad  stept  forthe,  and  who 
should  he  be  but  William  Roper^  returned  from  my 
Father's  Errand  over-seas  !  He  hath  grown  hugelie, 
and  looks  mannish  ;  but  his  Manners  are  worsened 
insteade  of  bettered  by  forayn  Travell  ;  for,  insteade 
of  his  old  Franknesse,  he  hung  upon  Hand  till  Father 
bade  him  come  forward  ;  and  then,  as  he  went  his 
Rounds,  kissing  one  after  another,  stopt  short  when 
he  came  to  me,  twice  made  as  though  he  would  have 
saluted  me,  and  then  held  back,  making  me  looke  so 
stupid,  that  I  could  have  boxed  his  Ears  for  his  Payns. 
'Speciallie  as  Father  burst  out  a-laughing,  and  cried, 
«  The  third  Time's  lucky!" 

After  Supper,  we  took  deare  Erasmus  entirely  over 
the  House,  in  a  Kind  of  family  Procession,  e'en  from 
the  Buttery  and  Scalding-house  to  our  own  deare 
Academia,  with  its  cool  green  Curtain  flapping  in  the 
Evening  Breeze,  and  blowing  aside,  as  though  on 
Purpose  to  give  a  glimpse  of  the  cleare-shining 


SI^THOS.  MO<%E  75 

Thames  /  Erasmus  noted  and  admired  the  Stone  Jar, 
placed  by  Mercy  Giggs  on  the  Table,  full  of  blue 
and  yellow  Irises,  scarlet  Tiger-Lilies,  Dog-Roses, 
Honeysuckles,  Moonwort,  and  Herb-Trinity ;  and 
alsoeour  various  Desks,  cache  in  its  own  little  Retire- 
ment,— mine  own,  in  speciall,  so  pleasantly  situate  ! 
He  protested,  with  everie  Semblance  of  Sincerity,  he 
had  never  scene  so  pretty  an  Academy.  I  should 
think  not,  indeede !  Bess,  Daisy,  and  I,  are  of 
Opinion,  that  there  is  not  likelie  to  be  such  another 
in  the  World.  He  glanced,  too,  at  the  Books  on  our 
Desks  ;  Bessy's  being  Livy  ;  Daisy's  Sallust ;  and  mine 
St  Augustine^  with  Father  s  Marks  where  I  was  to 
read,  and  where  desist.  He  tolde  Erasmus^  laying  his 
Hand  fondlie  on  my  Head,  "  Here  is  one  who  knows 
what  is  implied  in  the  Word  Trust."  Dear  Father^ 
well  I  may  !  He  added,  u  there  was  no  Law  against 
laughing  in  his  Academic,  for  that  his  Girls  knew  how 
to  be  merry  and  wise." 

From  the  House  to  the  new  Building,  the  Chapel 
and  Gallery,  and  thence  to  visitt  all  the  dumb  Kinde, 
from  the  great  horned  Owls  to  Cecy's  pet  Dormice. 
Erasmus  was  amused  at  some  of  theire  Names,  but 
doubted  whether  Duns  Scotus  and  the  Venerable  Bede 
woulde  have  thoughte  themselves  complimented  in 
being  made  Name-Fathers  to  a  couple  of  Owls; 
though  he  admitted  that  Argus  and  Juno  were  goode 
Cognomens  for  Peacocks.  Will  Roper  hathbroughte 
Mother  a  pretty  little  forayn  Animal  called  a  Marmot, 
but  she  sayd  she  had  noe  Time  for  suchlike  Play- 
things, and  bade  him  give  it  to  his  little  Wife. 


76  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

Methinks,  I  being  neare  sixteen  and  he  close  upon 
twenty,  we  are  too  old  for  those  childish  Names  now, 
nor  am  I  much  flattered  at  a  Present  not  intended 
for  me;  however,  I  shall  be  kind  to  the  little  Creature, 
and,  perhaps,  grow  fond  of  it,  as  'tis  both  harmlesse 
and  diverting. 

To  return,  howbeit,  to  Erasmus :  Cecy,  who  had 
hold  of  his  Gown,  and  had  alreadie,  through  his 
familiar  Kindnesse  and  her  own  childish  Heedless- 
ness,  somewhat  transgrest  Bounds,  began  now  in 
her  Mirthe  to  fabricate  a  Dialogue,  she  pretended  to 
have  overhearde,  between  Argus  and  Juno  as  they 
stoode  pearcht  on  a  stone  Parapet.  Erasmus  was 
entertayned  with  her  Garrulitie  for  a  while,  but  at 
length  gen  die  checkt  her,  with  "  Love  the  Truth, 
little  Mayd,  love  the  Truth,  or,  if  thou  liest,  let  it  be 
with  a  Circumstance,"  a  Qualification  which  made 
Mother  stare  and  Father  laugh. 

Sayth  Erasmus,  "  There  is  no  Harm  in  a  Fabella, 
Apologus,  or  Parabola,  so  long  as  its  Character  be 
distinctlie  recognised  for  such,  but  contrariwise,  much 
Goode  ;  and  the  same  hath  been  sanctioned,  not 
only  by  the  wiser  Heads  of  Greece  and  Rome,  but  by 
our  deare  Lord  Himself.  Therefore,  Cecilie,  whom  I 
love  exceedinglie,  be  not  abasht,  child,  at  my  Reproof, 
for  thy  Dialogue  between  the  two  Peacocks  was 
innocent  no  less  than  ingenious,  till  thou  wouldst 
have  insisted  that  they,  in  sooth,  sayd  Something  like 
what  thou  didst  invent.  Therein  thou  didst  Violence 
to  the  Truth,  which  St  Paul  hath  typified  by  a 
Girdle,  to  be  worn  next  the  Heart,  and  that  not  only 


THOS.  MO<KE  77 


confineth  within  due  Limits,  but  addeth  Strength. 
So  now  be  Friends  ;  wert  thou  more  than  eleven  and 
I  no  Priest,  thou  shouldst  be  my  little  Wife,  and 
darn  my  Hose,  and  make  me  sweet  Marchpane,  such 
as  thou  and  I  love.  But,  oh  !  this  pretty  Chelsea  .' 
What  Daisies  !  what  Buttercups  !  what  joviall 
Swarms  of  Gnats  !  The  Country  all  about  is  as  nice 
and  flat  as  Rotterdam." 

Anon,  we  sit  down  to  rest  and  talk  in  the  Pavilion. 

Sayth  Erasmus  to  mv  Father,  "  I  marvel  you  have 
never  entered  into  the  King's  Service  in  some  publick 
Capacitie,  wherein  your  Learning  and  Knowledge, 
bothe  of  Men  and  Things,  would  not  onlie  serve 
your  own  Interest,  but  that  of  your  Friends  and  the 
Publick." 

Father  smiled  and  made  Answer,  "  I  am  better 
and  happier  as  I  am.  As  for  my  Friends,  I  alreadie 
do  for  them  alle  I  can,  soe  as  they  can  hardlie  consider 
me  in  their  Debt  ;  and,  for  myself,  the  yielding  to 
theire  Solicitations  that  I  would  putt  myself  forward 
for  the  Benefit  of  the  World  in  generall,  would  be 
like  printing  a  Book  at  Request  of  Friends,  that  the 
Publick  may  be  charmed  with  what,  in  Fact,  it 
values  at  a  Doit.  The  Cardinall  offered  me  a  Pension, 
as  retaining  Fee  to  the  King  a  little  while  back,  but 
I  tolde  him  I  did  not  care  to  be  a  mathematical  Point, 
to  have  Position  without  Magnitude." 

Erasmus  laught  and  sayd,  "  I  woulde  not  have  you 
the  Slave  of  anie  King;  howbeit,  you  mighte  assist 
him  and  be  useful  to  him." 

"  The  Change  of  the  Word,"  sayth  Father,  "  does 


78  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

not  alter  the  Matter  ;  I  should  be  a  Slave,  as  completely 
as  if  I  had  a  Collar  rounde  my  Neck." 

"  But  would  not  increased  Usefulnesse,"  says 
Erasmus  "  make  you  happier  ? " 

"  Happier  ?  "  says  Father,  somewhat  heating  ;  "  how 
can  that  be  compassed  in  a  Way  so  abhorrent  to  my 
Genius  ?  At  present,  I  live  as  I  will,  to  which 
very  few  Courtiers  can  pretend.  Half-a-dozen  blue- 
coated  Serving-Men  answer  my  Turn  in  the  House, 
Garden,  Field,  and  on  the  River :  I  have  a  few  strong 
Horses  for  Work,  none  for  Show,  plenty  of  plain 
Food  for  a  healthy  Family,  and  enough,  with  a  hearty 
Welcome,  for  a  score  of  Guests  that  are  not  dainty. 
The  lengthe  of  my  Wife's  Train  infringeth  not  the 
Statute  ;  and,  for  myself,  I  soe  hate  Bravery,  that  my 
Motto  is,  '  Of  those  whom  you  see  in  Scarlet,  not 
one  is  happy.'  I  have  a  regular  Profession,  which 
supports  my  House,  and  enables  me  to  promote  Peace 
and  Justice  ;  I  have  Leisure  to  chat  with  my  Wife, 
and  sport  with  my  Children  ;  I  have  Hours  for 
Devotion,  and  Hours  for  Philosophic  and  the  liberall 
Arts,  which  are  absolutelie  medicinall  to  me,  as  Anti- 
dotes to  the  sharpe  but  contracted  Habitts  of  Mind 
engendered  by  the  Law.  If  there  be  aniething  in  a 
Court  Life  which  can  compensate  for  the  Losse  of 
anie  of  these  Blessings,  deare  Dcsiderius,  pray  tell  me 
what  it  is,  for  I  confesse  I  know  not." 

*'  You  are  a  comicall  Genius,"  says  Erasmus. 

"  As  for  you,"  retorted  Father^  "  you  are  at  your 
olde  Trick  of  arguing  on  the  wrong  Side,  as  you  did 
the  firste  Time  we  mett.  Nay,  don't  we  know  you 


SI^THOS.  MO<I(E  79 

can  declaime  backward  and  forwarde  on  the  same 
Argument,  as  you  did  on  the  Venetian  War  ?  " 

Erasmus  smiled  quietlie,  and  sayd,  "  What  coulde 
I  do  ?  The  Pope  changed  his  holy  Mind."  Whereat 
Father  smiled  too. 

"  What  Nonsense  you  learned  Men  sometimes 
talk  ! "  pursues  Father.  <c  I — wanted  at  Court, 
quotha  !  Fancy  a  dozen  starving  Men  with  one 
roasted  Pig  betweene  them  ; — do  you  think  they 
would  be  really  glad  to  see  a  Thirteenth  come  up, 
with  an  eye  to  a  small  Piece  of  the  Crackling  ?  No ; 
believe  me,  there  is  none  that  Courtiers  are  more 
sincerelie  respectfull  to  than  the  Man  who  avows  he 
hath  no  Intention  of  attempting  to  go  Shares ;  and 
e'en  him  they  care  mighty  little  about,  for  they  love 
none  with  true  Tendernesse  save  themselves." 

"  We  shall  see  you  at  Court  yet,"  says  Erasmus. 

Sayth  Father,  "  Then  I  will  tell  you  in  what  Guise. 
With  a  Fool's  Cap  and  Bells.  Pish  !  I  won't  aggra- 
vate you,  Churchman  as  you  are,  by  alluding  to  the 
Blessings  I  have  which  you  have  not ;  and  I  trow 
there  is  as  much  Danger  in  taking  you  for  serious 
when  you  are  onlie  playful  and  ironicall  as  if  you  were 
Plato  himself." 

Sayth  Erasmus,  after  some  Minutes'  Silence,  "I 
know  full  well  that  you  holde  Plato ,  in  manic  In- 
stances, to  be  sporting  when  I  accept  him  in  very 
Deed  and  Truth.  Speculating  he  often  was ;  as  a 
brighte,  pure  Flame  must  needs  be  struggling  up, 
and,  if  it  findeth  no  direct  Vent,  come  forthe  of  the 
Oven's  Mouth.  He  was  like  a  Man  shut  into  a 


8o  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

Vault,  running  hither  and  thither,  with  his  poor, 
flickering  Taper,  agonizing  to  get  forthe,  and  hold- 
ing himself  in  readinesse  to  make  a  Spring  forward 
the  Moment  a  Door  should  open.  But  it  never  did. 
'  Not  manie  Wise  are  called.'  He  had  clomb  a  Hill 
in  the  Darke,  and  stoode  calling  to  his  Companions 
below,  '  Come  on,  come  on  !  this  Way  lies  the  East ; 
I  am  avised  we  shall  see  the  Sun  rise  anon/  But 
they  never  did.  What  a  Christian  he  woulde  have 
made  !  Ah  !  he  is  one  now.  He  and  Socrates — the 
Veil  long  removed  from  their  Eyes — are  sitting  at 
Jesus'  Feet.  Sancte  Socrates,  ora  pro  nobh  I  " 

Bessie  and  I  exchanged  Glances  at  this  so  strange 
Ejaculation  ;  but  the  Subjeckt  was  of  such  Interest, 
that  we  listened  with  deep  Attention  to  what 
followed. 

Sayth  Father,  "  Whether  Socrates  were  what  Plato 
painted  him  in  his  Dialogues,  is  with  me  a  great 
Matter  of  Doubte  ;  but  it  is  not  of  Moment.  When 
so  many  Contemporaries  coulde  distinguishe  the 
fancifulle  from  the  fictitious,  Plato's  Object  coulde 
never  have  beene  to  deceive.  There  is  something 
higher  in  Art  than  gross  Imitation.  He  who 
attempteth  it  is  always  the  leaste  successfull ;  and  his 
Failure  hath  the  Odium  of  a  discovered  Lie  ;  where- 
as, to  give  an  avowedlie  fabulous  Narrative  a  Con- 
sistence within  itselfe  which  permitts  the  Reader  to 
be,  for  the  Time,  voluntarilie  deceived,  is  as  artfulle 
as  it  is  allowable.  Were  I  to  construct  a  Tale,  I 
woulde,  as  you  sayd  to  Cecyt  lie  with  a  Circumstance, 
but  shoulde  consider  it  noe  Compliment  to  have  my 


SI^THOS.  MO<KE  81 

Unicorns  and  Hippogriffs  taken  for  live  Animals. 
Amicus  Plato,  amicus  Socrates,  magis  tamen  arnica  Peritas. 
Now,  Plato  had  a  much  higher  Aim  than  to  give  a 
very  Pattern  of  Socrates  his  snub  Nose.  He  wanted 
a  Peg  to  hang  his  Thoughts  upon " 

"  A  Peg  ?  A  Statue  by  Phidias"  interrupts 
Erasmus. 

"A  Statue  by  Phidias,  to  clothe  in  the  most  beauti- 
ful Drapery,"  sayth  Father;  "no  Matter  that  the 
Drapery  was  his  own,  he  wanted  to  show  it  to  the 
best  Advantage,  and  to  the  Honour  rather  than 
Prejudice  of  the  Statue.  And,  having  clothed  the 
same,  he  got  a  Spark  of  Prometheus  his  Fire,  and  made 
the  aforesayd  Statue  walk  and  talk,  to  the  Glory  of 
Gods  and  Men,  and  sate  himself  quietlie  down  in  a 
Corner.  By  the  Way,  Desiderius,  why  shouldst  thou 
not  submitt  thy  Subtletie  to  the  Rules  of  a  Colloquy  ? 
Set  Eckius  and  Martin  Luther  by  the  Ears  !  Ha ! 
Man,  what  sport  !  Heavens  !  if  I  were  to  compound 
a  Tale  or  a  Dialogue,  what  Crotchets  and  Quips  of 
mine  own  woulde  I  not  putt  into  my  Puppets' 
Mouths  !  and  then  have  out  my  Laugh  behind  my 
Vizard,  as  when  we  used  to  act  Burlesques  before 
Cardinall  Morton.  What  rare  Sporte  we  had,  one 
Christmas,  with  a  Mummery  we  called  the  '  Triall 
of  Feasting'  !  Dinner  and  Supper  were  broughte  up 
before  my  Lord  Chief  Justice,  charged  with  Murder. 
Theire  Accomplices  were  Plum-pudding,  Mincepye, 
Surfeit,  Drunkenness,  and  suchlike.  Being  condemned 
to  hang  by  the  Neck,  I,  who  was  Supper,  stuft  out 
with  I  cannot  tell  you  how  many  Pillows,  began  to  call 
ff 


82  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

lustilie  for  a  Confessor  ;  and  on  his  stepping  forthe, 
commenct  a  List  of  all  the  Fitts,  Convulsions, 
Spasms,  Payns  in  the  Head,  and  so  forthe,  I  had  in- 
flicted on  this  one  and  t'other.  '  Alas  !  good  Father,' 
says  I,  l  King  John  layd  his  Death  at  my  Door; — 
indeede,  there's  scarce  a  royall  or  noble  House  that 
hath  not  a  Charge  agaynst  me;  and  I'm  sorelie 
afrayd'  (giving  a  Poke  at  a  fat  Priest  that  sate  at  my 
Lord  Cardinal? s  Elbow)  'I  shall  have  the  Death  of 
that  holy  Man  to  answer  for.'" 

Erasmus  laughed,  and  sayd,  "  Did  I  ever  tell  you 
of  the  Retort  of  Willibald  Pirkheimer?  A  Monk, 
hearing  him  praise  me  somewhat  lavishly  to  another, 
could  not  avoid  expressing  by  his  Looks  great  Disgust 
and  Dissatisfaction  ;  and,  on  being  askt  whence  they 
arose,  confest  he  could  not,  with  Patience,  heare  the 
Commendation  of  a  Man  soe  notoriously  fond  of 
eating  Fowls.  '  Does  he  steal  them  ? '  says  Pirkheimer. 
'  Surely  no,'  says  the  Monk.  '  Why,  then,'  quoth 
Willibald)  f  1  know  of  a  Fox  who  is  ten  times  the 
greater  Rogue ;  for,  look  you,  he  helps  himself  to 
many  a  fat  Hen  from  my  Roost  without  ever  offering 
to  pay  me.  But  tell  me  now,  dear  Father,  is  it  then 
a  Sin  to  eat  Fowls  ? '  '  Most  assuredlie  it  is,'  says 
the  Monk,  *  if  you  indulge  in  them  to  Gluttony.' 
'  Ah  !  if,  if !  '  quoth  Pirkheimer.  *  If  stands  stiff,  as 
the  Lacedemonians  told  Philip  of  Macedon  ;  and  'tis  not 
by  eating  Bread  alone,  my  dear  Father,  you  have 
acquired  that  huge  Paunch  of  yours.  I  fancy,  if  all 
the  fat  Fowls  that  have  gone  into  it  could  raise  their 
Voices  and  cackle  at  once,  they  woulde  make  Noise 


SI^THOS.  MO^  83 

enow  to  drown  the  Drums  and  Trumpets  of  an 
Army.'  Well  may  Luther  say,"  continued  Erasmus, 
laughing,  "  that  theire  fasting  is  easier  to  them  than 
our  eating  to  us  ;  seeing  that  every  Man  Jack  of 
them  hath  to  his  Evening  Meal  two  Quarts  of  Beer, 
a  Quart  of  Wine,  and  as  manie  as  he  can  eat  of 
Spice  Cakes,  the  better  to  relish  his  Drink.  While 
I  ...  'tis  true  my  Stomach  is  Lutheran,  but  my 
Heart  is  Catholic  ;  that's  as  Heaven  made  me,  and 
I'll  be  judged  by  you  alle,  whether  I  am  not  as  thin 
as  a  Weasel." 

'Twas  now  growing  dusk,  and  Cecy's  tame  Hares 
were  just  beginning  to  be  on  the  alert,  skipping  across 
our  Path,  as  we  returned  towards  the  House,  jumping 
over  one  another,  and  raysing  'emselves  on  theire  hind 
Legs  to  solicitt  our  Notice.  Erasmus  was  amused  at 
theire  Gambols,  and  at  our  making  them  beg  for 
Vine-tendrils  ;  and  Father  told  him  there  was  hardlie 
a  Member  of  the  Householde  who  had  not  a  dumb 
Pet  of  some  Sort.  "  I  encourage  the  Taste  in  them," 
he  sayd,  "  not  onlie  because  it  fosters  Humanitie  and 
affords  harmlesse  Recreation,  but  because  it  promotes 
Habitts  of  Forethoughte  and  Regularitie.  No  child 
or  Servant  of  mine  hath  Liberty  to  adopt  a  Pet  which 
he  is  too  lazy  or  nice  to  attend  to  himself.  A  little 
Management  may  enable  even  a  young  Gentlewoman 
to  do  this,  without  soyling  her  Hands ;  and  to  negleckt 
giving  them  proper  Food  at  proper  Times  entayls  a 
Disgrace  of  which  everie  one  of 'em  would  be  ashamed. 
But,  hark  !  there  is  the  Vesper-bell." 

As  we  passed  under  a  Pear-tree,  Erasmus  told  us, 


84  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

with  much  Drollerie,  of  a  Piece  of  boyish  Mischief 
of  his, — the  Theft  of  some  Pears  off  a  particular 
Tree,  the  Fruit  of  which  the  Superior  of  his  Convent 
had  meant  to  reserve  to  himself.  One  Morning, 
Erasmus  had  climbed  the  Tree,  and  was  feasting  to 
his  great  Content,  when  he  was  aware  of  the  Superior 
approaching  to  catch  him  in  the  Fact ;  soe,  quickly 
slid  down  to  the  Ground,  and  made  oft  in  the  opposite 
Direction,  limping  as  he  went.  The  Malice  of  this 
Act  consisted  in  its  being  the  Counterfeit  of  the  Gait 
of  a  poor  lame  Lay  Brother,  who  was,  in  fact,  smartlie 
punisht  for  Erasmus  his  Misdeede.  Our  Friend  men- 
tioned this  with  a  Kinde  of  Remorse,  and  observed  to 
my  Father y — "  Men  laugh  at  the  Sins  of  young  People 
and  little  Children,  as  if  they  were  little  Sins  ;  albeit, 
the  Robbery  of  an  Apple  or  Cherry-orchard  is  as 
much  a  breaking  of  the  Eighth  Commandment  as  the 
stealing  of  a  Leg  of  Mutton  from  a  Butcher's  Stall,  and 
ofttimes  with  far  less  Excuse.  Our  Church  tells  us, 
indeede,  of  Venial  Sins,  such  as  the  Theft  of  an  Apple 
or  a  Pin  ;  but,  I  think,"  (looking hard  at  Cecilie  and 
Jack^)  "  even  the  youngest  among  us  could  tell  how 
much  Sin  and  Sorrow  was  brought  into  the  World  by 
stealing  an  Apple." 

At  Bedtime,  Bess  and  I  did  agree  in  wishing  that 
alle  learned  Men  were  as  apt  to  unite  Pleasure  with 
Profit  in  theire  Talk  as  Erasmus.  There  be  some 
that  can  write  after  the  Fashion  of  Paul,  and  others 
preach  like  unto  Apollos ;  but  this,  methinketh,  is 
scattering  Seed  by  the  Wayside,  like  the  Great  Sower. 


SI^THOS.  MO<HE  85 


Tuesday. 

'Tis  singular,  the  Love  that  Jack  and  Cecy  have  for 
one  another;  it  resembleth  that  of  Twins.  Jack  is 
not  forward  at  his  Booke  ;  on  the  other  Hand,  he 
hath  a  Resolution  of  Character  which  Cecy  altogether 
wants.  Last  night,  when  Erasmus  spake  of  Children's 
Sins,  I  observed  her  squeeze  Jack's  Hand  with  alle 
her  Mighte.  I  know  what  she  was  thinking  of. 
Having  bothe  beene  forbidden  to  approach  a  favourite 
Part  of  the  River  Bank  which  had  given  way  from 
too  much  Use,  one  or  the  other  of  'em  transgressed, 
as  was  proven  by  the  smalle  Footprints  in  the  Mud, 
as  well  as  by  a  Nosegay  of  Flowers,  that  grow  not, 
save  by  the  River;  to  wit,  Purple  Loosestrife,  Cream- 
and-codlins,  Scorpion-grass,  Water  Plantain,  and  the 
like.  Neither  of  'em  woulde  confesse,  and  Jack  was, 
therefore,  sentenced  to  be  whipt.  As  he  walked  off 
with  Mr  Drew,  I  observed  Cecy  turn  soe  pale,  that  I 
whispered  Father  I  was  certayn  she  was  guilty.  He 
made  Answer,  "  Never  mind,  we  cannot  beat  a  Girl, 
and 'twill  answer  the  same  Purpose  ;  in  flogging  him, 
we  flog  both.  Jack  bore  the  firste  Stripe  or  two,  I 
suppose,  well  enow,  but  at  lengthe  we  hearde  him 
cry  out,  on  which  Cecy  coulde  not  forbeare  to  doe  the 
same,  and  then  stopt  bothe  her  Ears.  I  expected 
everie  Moment  to  heare  her  say,  "  Father^  'twas  I  ;  " 
but  no,  she  had  not  Courage  for  that ;  onlie,  when 
Jack  came  forthe  all  smirched  with  Tears,  she  put  her 
Arm  about  his  Neck,  and  they  walked  off  together 


86  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

into  the  Nuttery.  Since  that  Hour,  she  hath  beene 
more  devoted  to  him  than  ever,  if  possible  ;  and  he, 
Boy-like,  finds  Satisfaction  in  making  her  his  little 
Slave.  But  the  Beauty  lay  in  my  Father's  Improve- 
ment of  the  Circumstance.  Taking  Cecy  on  his 
Knee  that  Evening,  (for  she  was  not  ostcnsiblie  in 
Disgrace,)  he  beganne  to  talk  of  Atonement  and 
Mediation  for  Sin,  and  who  it  was  that  bare  our  Sins 
for  us  on  the  Tree.  'Tis  thus  he  turns  the  daylie 
Accidents  of  our  quiet  Lives  into  Lessons  of  deepe 
Import,  not  pedanticallie  delivered,  ex  cathedra,  but 
welling  forthe  from  a  full  and  fresh  Mind. 

This  Morn  I  had  risen  before  Dawn,  being  minded 
to  meditate  on  sundrie  Matters  before  Bess  was  up 
and  doing,  she  being  given  to  much  Talk  during  her 
dressing,  and  made  my  Way  to  the  Pavilion,  where, 
methought,  I  should  be  quiet  enow  ;  but  beholde ! 
Father  and  Erasmus  were  there  before  me,  in  fluent 
and  earneste  Discourse.  I  would  have  withdrawne, 
but  Father^  without  interrupting  his  Sentence,  puts 
his  Arm  rounde  me  and  draweth  me  to  him  ;  soe  there 
I  sit,  my  Head  on  's  Shoulder,  and  mine  Eyes  on 
Erasmus  his  Face. 

From  much  they  spake,  and  othermuch  I  guessed, 
they  had  beene  conversing  on  the  present  State  of  the 
Church,  and  how  much  it  needed  Renovation. 

Erasmus  sayd,  the  Vices  of  the  Clergy  and  Ignor- 
ance of  the  Vulgar  had  now  come  to  a  Poynt,  at  the 
which,  a  Remedie  must  be  founde,  or  the  whole  Fabric 
would  falle  to  Pieces. 

— Sayd,  the  Revival  of  Learning  seemed  appoynted 


THOS.  MO<KE  87 

by  Heaven  for  some  greate  Purpose,  'twas  difficulte 
to  say  how  greate. 

— Spake  of  the  new  Art  of  Printing,  and  its  possible 
Consequents. 

— Of  the  active  and  fertile  Minds  at  present  turn- 
ing up  new  Ground  and  ferreting  out  old  Abuses. 

— Of  the  Abuse  of  Monachism,  and  of  the  evil 
Lives  of  Conventualls.  In  special,  of  the  Fanaticism 
and  Hypocrisie  of  the  Dominicans. 

Considered  the  Evills  of  the  Times  such,  as  that 
Societie  must  shortlie,  by  a  vigorous  Effort,  shake  'em 
off. 

Wondered  at  the  Patience  of  the  Laitie  for  soe 
many  Generations,  but  thoughte  'em  now  wakinge 
from  theire  Sleepe.  The  People  had  of  late  begunne 
to  know  theire  physickall  Power,  and  to  chafe  at  the 
Weighte  of  theire  Yoke. 

Thoughte  the  Doctrine  of  Indulgences  altogether 
bad  and  false. 

Father  sayd,  that  the  graduallie  increast  Severitie  of 
Church  Discipline  concerning  minor  Offences  had 
become  such  as  to  render  Indulgences  the  needfulle 
Remedie  for  Burthens  too  heavie  to  be  borne. — Con- 
demned a  Draconic  Code,  that  visitted  even  Sins  of 
Discipline  with  the  extream  Penaltie.  Quoted  how 
ill  such  excessive  Severitie  answered  in  our  owne 
Land,  with  regard  to  the  Civill  Law  ;  twenty  Thieves 
oft  hanging  together  on  the  same  Gibbet,  yet 
Robberie  noe  Whit  abated. 

Othermuch  to  same  Purport,  the  which,  if  alle  set 
downe,  woulde  too  soon  fill  my  Libellus.  At  length, 


88  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

unwillinglie  brake  off,  when  the  Bell  rang  us  to 
Matins. 

At  Breakfaste,  William  and  Rupert  were  earneste 
with  my  Father  to  let  'em  row  him  to  Westminster^ 
which  he  was  disinclined  to,  as  he  was  for  more 
Speede,  and  had  promised  Erasmus  an  earlie  Caste  to 
Lambeth  ;  howbeit,  he  consented  that  they  should 
pull  us  up  to  Putney  in  the  Evening,  and  William 
should  have  the  Stroke-oar.  Erasmus  sayd,  he  must 
thank  the  Archbishop  for  his  Present  of  a  Horse  ;  "  tho' 
I'm  full  faine,"  he  observed,  "  to  believe  it  a  Change- 
ling. He  is  idle  and  gluttonish,  as  thin  as  a  Wasp,  and 
as  ugly  as  Sin.  Such  a  Horse,  and  such  a  Rider  !  " 

In  the  Evening  Will  and  Rupert  had  made  'em- 
selves  spruce  enow,  with  Nosegays  and  Ribbons,  and 
we  tooke  Water  bravelie; — John  Harris  in  the  Stern, 
playing  the  Recorder.  We  had  the  six-oared  Barge  ; 
and  when  Rupert  Allington  was  tired  of  pulling,  Mr 
Clement  tooke  his  Oar  ;  and  when  he  wearied,  John 
Harris  gave  over  playing  the  Pipe  ;  but  William  and 
Mr  Gunnel  never  flagged. 

Erasmus  was  full  of  his  Visitt  to  the  Archbishop, 
who,  as  usuall  I  think,  had  given  him  some  Money 

M  We  sate  down  two  hundred  to  Table,"  sayth  he  ; 
"  there  was  Fish,  Flesh,  and  Fowl ;  but  War  eh  am 
onlie  played  with  his  Knife,  and  drank  noe  Wine. 
He  was  very  cheerfulle  and  accessible  ;  he  knows  not 
what  Pride  is  ;  and  yet,  of  how  much  mighte  he  be 
proude  !  What  Genius  !  What  Erudition  !  what 
Kindnesse  and  Modesty  !  From  Wareham^  who 
ever  departed  in  Sorrow  ?  " 


SI^THOS.  MO<KE  89 

Landing  at  Fulham^  we  had  a  brave  Ramble  thro' 
the  Meadows.  Erasmus^  noting  the  poor  Children 
a  gathering  the  Dandelion  and  Milk-thistle  for  the 
Herb-market  was  avised  to  speak  of  forayn  Herbes 
and  theire  Uses,  bothe  for  Food  and  Medicine. 

"  For  me,"  says  Father,  "  there  is  manie  a  Plant  I 
entertayn  in  my  Garden  and  Paddock  which  the 
Fastidious  woulde  cast  forthe.  I  like  to  teache  my 
Children  the  Uses  of  common  Things — to  know,  for 
Instance,  the  Uses  of  the  Flowers  and  Weeds  that 
grow  in  our  Fields  and  Hedges.  Manie  a  poor 
Knave's  Pottage  woulde  be  improved,  if  he  were 
skilled  in  the  Properties  of  the  Burdock  and  Purple 
Orchis,  Lady's-smock,  Brook-lime,  and  Old  Man's 
Pepper.  The  Roots  of  Wild  Succory  and  Water 
Arrow-head  mighte  agreeablie  change  his  Lenten 
Diet ;  and  Glasswort  afford  him  a  Pickle  for  his 
Mouthfulle  of  Salt-Meat.  Then,  there  are  Cresses 
and  Wood-sorrel  to  his  Breakfast,  and  Salep  for  his 
hot  evening  Mess.  For  his  Medicine,  there  is  Herb- 
twopence,  that  will  cure  a  hundred  Ills  ;  Camomile, 
to  lull  a  raging  Tooth  ;  and  the  Juice  of  Buttercup 
to  cleare  his  Head  by  sneezing.  Vervain  cureth 
Ague  ;  and  Crowfoot  affords  the  leaste  painfulle  of 
Blisters.  St  Anthony's  Turnip  is  an  Emetic  ;  Goose- 
grass  sweetens  the  Blood  ;  Woodruffe  is  good  for  the 
Liver  ;  and  Bindweed  hath  nigh  as  much  Virtue  as 
the  forayn  Scammony.  Pimpernel  promoteth  Laugh- 
ter ;  and  Poppy,  Sleep  ;  Thyme  giveth  pleasant 
Dreams  ;  and  an  ashen  Branch  drives  evil  Spirits 
from  the  Pillow.  As  for  Rosemarie,  I  lett  it  run 


90  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

alle  over  my  Garden  Walls,  not  onlie  because  my 
Bees  love  it,  but  because  'tis  the  Herb  sacred  to 
Remembrance,  and,  therefore,  to  Friendship,  whence 
a  Sprig  of  it  hath  a  dumb  Language  that  maketh  it 
the  chosen  Emblem  at  our  Funeral  Wakes,  and  in 
our  Buriall  Grounds.  Howbeit,  I  am  a  Schoolboy 
prating  in  Presence  of  his  Master,  for  here  is  John 
Clement  at  my  Elbow,  who  is  the  best  Botanist  and 
Herbalist  of  us  all." 

— Returning  Home,  the  Youths  being  warmed 
with  rowing,  and  in  high  Spiritts  did  entertayn 
themselves  and  us  with  manie  Jests  and  Playings  upon 
Words,  some  of  'em  forced  enow,  yet  provocative  of 
Laughing.  Afterwards,  Mr  Gunnell proposed  Enigmas 
and  curious  Questions.  Among  others,  he  woulde 
know  which  of  the  famous  Women  of  Greece  or 
Rome  we  Maidens  would  resemble.  Bess  was  for 
Cornelia,  Daisy  for  delta,  but  I  for  Damo,  Daughter 
of  Pythagoras,  which  William  Roper  deemed  stupid 
enow,  and  thoughte  I  mighte  have  found  as  good  a 
Daughter,  that  had  not  died  a  Maid  :  Sayth  Erasmus, 
with  his  sweet,  inexpressible  Smile,  "  Now  I  will  tell 
you,  Lads  and  Lasses,  what  manner  of  Man  /  would 
be,  if  I  were  not  Erasmus.  I  woulde  step  back  some 
few  Years  of  my  Life,  and  be  half-way  'twixt  thirty 
and  forty  ;  I  would  be  pious  and  profoundc  enow  for 
the  Church,  albeit  noe  Churchman  ;  I  woulde  have  a 
blythe,  stirring,  English  Wife,  and  half-a-dozen  merrie 
Girls  and  Boys,  an  English  Homestead,  neither  Hall 
nor  Farm,  but  betweene  bothe ;  neare  enow  to  the 
Citie  for  Convenience,  but  away  from  its  Noise.  I 


SI^THOS.  MO1(E  91 

woulde  have  a  Profession,  that  gave  me  some  Hours 
daylie  of  regular  Businesse,  that  should  let  Men  know 
my  Parts,  and  court  me  into  Publick  Station,  for 
which  my  Taste  made  me  rather  withdrawe.  I 
woulde  have  such  a  private  Independence,  as  should 
enable  me  to  give  and  lend,  rather  than  beg  and 
borrow.  I  woulde  encourage  Mirthe  without 
Buffbonerie,  Ease  without  Negligence  ;  my  Habitt 
and  Table  shoulde  be  simple,  and  for  my  Looks  I 
woulde  be  neither  tall  nor  short,  fat  nor  lean,  rubicund 
nor  sallow,  but  of  a  fayr  Skin  with  blue  Eyes,  brown- 
ish Beard,  and  a  Countenance  engaging  and  attractive, 
soe  that  alle  of  my  Companie  coulde  not  choose  but 
love  me." 

"  Why,  then,  you  woulde  be  Father  himselfe,"  cries 
Cecy,  clasping  his  Arm  in  bothe  her  Hands  with  a 
Kind  of  Rapture  ;  and,  indeede,  the  Portraiture  was 
soe  like,  we  coulde  not  but  smile  at  the  Resemblance. 

Arrived  at  the  Landing,  Father  protested  he  was 
wearie  with  his  Ramble;  and,  his  Foot  slipping,  he 
wrenched  his  Ankle,  and  sate  for  an  Instante  on  a 
Barrow,  the  which  one  of  the  Men  had  left  with  his 
Garden-tools,  and  before  he  could  rise  or  cry  out, 
William^  laughing,  rolled  him  up  to  the  House-door  ; 
which,  considering  Father's  Weight,  was  much  for  a 
Stripling  to  doe.  Father  sayd  the  same,  and,  laying 
his  Hand  on  WilFs  Shoulder  with  Kindnesse,  cried, 
"  Bless  thee,  my  Boy,  but  I  woulde  not  have  thee 
overstrayned  like  Biton  and  Cleobis" 


92  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 


"June  2O. 

THIS  Morn,  hinting  to  Bess  that  she  was  lacing  her- 
selfe  too  straitlie,  she  brisklie  replyed,  "  One  would 
think  'twere  as  great  Meritt  to  have  a  thick  Waiste 
as  to  be  one  of  the  earlie  Christians  !  " 

These  humourous  Retorts  are  ever  at  her  Tongue's 
end  ;  and  albeit,  as  Jacky  one  Day  angrilie  remarked 
when  she  had  beene  teazing  him,  "  Bess  thy  Witt  is 
Stupidness ; "  yet,  for  one  who  talks  soe  much  at 
Random,  no  one  can  be  more  keene  when  she 
chooseth.  Father  sayd  of  her,  half  fondly,  half 
apologeticallie,  to  Erasmus,  "  Her  Witt  hath  a  fine 
Subtletie  that  eludes  you  almoste  before  you  have 
Time  to  recognise  it  for  what  it  really  is."  To 
which  Erasmus  readilie  assented,  adding,  that  it  had 
the  rare  Meritt  of  playing  less  on  Persons  than 
Things,  and  never  on  bodilie  Defects. 

Hum  ! — I  wonder  if  they  ever  sayd  as  much  in 
Favour  of  me.  I  know,  indeede,  Erasmus  calls  me 
a  forward  Girl.  Alas  !  that  may  be  taken  in  two 
Senses. 

Grievous  Work,  overnighte,  with  the  churning. 
Nought  would  persuade  Gillian  but  that  the  Creame 
was  bewitched  by  Gammer  Gurneyy  who  was  dis- 
satisfyde  last  Friday  with  her  Dole,  and  hobbled 
away  mumping  and  cursing.  At  alle  Events,  the 
Butter  would  not  come ;  but  Mother  was  resolute 
not  to  have  soe  much  good  Creame  wasted  ;  soe  sent 
for  Bess  and  me,  Daisy  and  Mercy  Giggs;  and  insisted 


.  MO<%E  93 

on  our  churning  in  turn  till  the  Butter  came,  if  we 
sate  up  alle  Night  for't.  'Twas  a  hard  Saying  ;  and 
mighte  have  hampered  her  like  as  Jephtha  his  rash 
Vow  :  howbeit,  soe  soone  as  she  had  left  us,  we 
turned  it  into  a  Frolick,  and  sang  Chevy  Chase  from 
end  to  end,  to  beguile  Time  ;  ne'erthelesse,  the 
Butter  would  not  come  ;  soe  then  we  grew  sober 
and,  at  the  Instance  of  sweete  Mercy,  chaunted  the 
iigth  Psalme  ;  and,  by  the  Time  we  had  attained  to 
"  Lucerna  Pedibus"  I  hearde  the  Buttermilk  separat- 
ing and  splashing  in  righte  earnest.  'Twas  neare 
Midnighte,  however ;  and  Daisy  had  fallen  asleep  on 
the  Dresser.  Gillian  will  ne'er  be  convinced  but 
that  our  Latin  brake  the  Spell. 


list. 

ERASMUS  went  to  Richmond  this  Morning  with 
Polus  (for  soe  he  Latinizes  Reginald  Pole,  after  his 
usual  Fashion),  and  some  other  of  his  Friends.  On 
his  Return,  he  made  us  laugh  at  the  following.  They 
had  clomb  the  Hill,  and  were  admiring  the  Prospect, 
when  Pole,  casting  his  Eyes  aloft,  and  beginning  to 
make  sundrie  Gesticulations,  exclaimed,  "  What  is  it 
I  beholde  ?  May  Heaven  avert  the  Omen  !  "  with 
suchlike  Exclamations,  which  raised  the  Curiositie 
of  alle.  "  Don't  you  beholde,"  cries  he,  "  that 
enormous  Dragon  flying  through  the  Sky  ?  his 
Horns  of  Fire  ?  his  curly  Tail  ?  " 

"  No,"  says  Erasmus,  "  nothing  like  it.     The  Sky 
is  as  cleare  as  unwritten  Paper." 


94  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

Howbeit,  he  continued  to  affirme  and  to  stare, 
untill  at  lengthe,  one  after  another,  by  dint  of  strayn- 
ing  theire  Eyes  and  theire  Imaginations,  did  admitt, 
first,  that  they  saw  Something  j  next,  that  it  mighte 
be  a  Dragon  ;  and  last,  that  it  was.  Of  course, 
on  theire  Passage  homeward,  they  could  talk  of  little 
else — some  made  serious  Reflections ;  others,  philo- 
sophicall  Speculations  ;  and  Pole  waggishly  triumphed 
in  having  beene  the  Firste  to  discern  the  Spectacle. 

"  And  you  trulie  believe  there  was  a  Signe  in  the 
Heavens  ?  "  we  inquired  of  Erasmus. 

"  What  know  I  ?  "  returned  he  smiling  ;  "  you 
know,  Constantine  saw  a  Cross.  Why  shoulde  Po/us 
not  see  a  Dragon  ?  We  must  judge  by  the  Event. 
Perhaps  its  Mission  may  be  to  fly  away  with  him. 
He  swore  to  the  curly  Tail." 

How  difficulte  it  is  to  discerne  the  supernatural 
from  the  incredible  !  We  laughe  at  Gillian's  Faith  in 
our  Latin ;  Erasmus  laughs  at  Polus  his  Dragon. 
Have  we  a  righte  to  believe  noughte  but  what  we  can 
see  or  prove  ?  Nay,  that  will  never  doe.  Father  says 
a  Capacitie  for  reasoning  increaseth  a  Capacitie  for 
believing.  He  believes  there  is  such  a  Thing  as 
Witchcraft,  though  not  that  poore  olde  Gammer 
Gurney  is  a  Witch  ;  he  believes  that  Saints  can  work 
Miracles,  though  not  in  alle  the  Marvels  reported  of 
the  Canterbury  Shrine. 

Had  I  beene  Justice  of  the  Peace,  like  the  King's 
Grandmother,  I  would  have  beene  very  jealous  of 
Accusations  of  Witchcraft ;  and  have  taken  infinite 
Payns  to  sift  out  the  Causes  of  Malice,  Jealousie,  &c., 


THOS.  MOT(E  95 

which  mighte  have  wroughte  with  the  poore  olde 
Women's  Enemies.  Holie  Writ  sayth,  "  Thou  shalt 
not  suffer  a  Witch  to  live  ;  "  but,  questionlesse,  manic 
have  suffered  Hurte  that  were  noe  Witches  ;  and  for 
my  Part,  I  have  alwaies  helde  ducking  to  be  a  very 
uncertayn  as  well  as  very  cruel  Teste. 

I  cannot  helpe  smiling,  whenever  I  think  of  my 
Rencounter  with  William  this  Morning.  Mr  Gunnell 
had  set  me  Homer's  tiresome  List  of  Ships ;  and, 
because  of  the  excessive  Heate  within  Doors,  I  took 
my  Book  into  the  Nuttery,  to  be  beyonde  the  Wrath 
of  far-darting  Phoebus  Apollo,  where  I  clomb  into  my 
favourite  Filbert  Seat.  Anon  comes  William  through 
the  Trees  without  seeing  me  ;  and  seats  him  at  the 
Foot  of  my  Filbert  ;  then,  out  with  his  Tablets,  and, 
in  a  Posture  I  should  have  called  studdied,  had  he 
known  anie  one  within  Sighte,  falls  a  poetizing,  I 
question  not.  Having  noe  Mind  to  be  interrupted,  I 
lett  him  be,  thinking  he  would  soone  exhaust  the 
Vein  ;  but  a  Caterpillar  dropping  from  the  Leaves  on 
to  my  Page,  I  was  fayn,  for  Mirthe  sake,  to  shake  it 
down  on  his  Tablets.  As  ill  Luck  would  have  it, 
however,  the  little  Reptile  onlie  fell  among  his  Curls  ; 
which  soe  took  me  at  Vantage  that  I  coulde  not  helpe 
hastilie  crying,  "  I  beg  your  Pardon."  'Twas  worth 
a  World  to  see  his  Start !  "  Why  !  "  cries  he,  look- 
ing up,  "  are  there  indeede  Hamadryads  ? "  and 
would  have  gallanted  a  little,  but  I  bade  him  hold 
down  his  Head,  while  that  with  a  Twig  I  switched 
off  the  Caterpillar.  Neither  coulde  forbeare  laugh- 
ing j  and  then  he  sued  me  to  step  downe,  but  I  was 


96  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

minded  to  abide  where  I  was.  Howbeit,  after  a 
Minute's  Pause,  he  sayd,  in  a  grave,  kind  Tone, 
"Come,  little  Wife;"  and  taking  mine  Arm  steadilie 
in  his  Hand,  I  lost  my  Balance  and  was  faine  to  come 
down  whether  or  noe.  We  walked  for  some  Time 
juxta  Fluvium  ;  and  he  talked  not  badlie  of  his  Travels, 
insomuch  as  I  founde  there  was  really  more  in  him 
than  one  would  think. 

— Was  there  ever  Aniethingsoe  perverse,  unluckie, 
and  downrighte  disagreeable  ?  We  hurried  our  After- 
noon Tasks,  to  goe  on  the  Water  with  my  Father  ; 
and,  meaning  to  give  Mr  Gunnel  my  Latin  Traduc- 
tion,  which  is  in  a  Booke  like  unto  this,  I  never  knew 
he  had  my  Journalle  insteade,  untill  that  he  burst  out 
a  laughing.  "  Soe  this  is  the  famous  Libellus" 
quoth  he.  ...  I  never  waited  for  another  Word,  but 
snatcht  it  out  of  his  Hand  ;  which  he,  for  soe  strict  a 
Man,  bore  well  enow.  I  do  not  believe  he  could  have 
read  a  Dozen  Lines,  and  they  were  towards  the 
Beginning  ;  but  I  should  hugelie  like  to  know  which 
Dozen  Lines  they  were. 

Hum  !  I  have  a  Mind  never  to  write  another  Word. 
That  will  be  punishing  myselfe,  though,  insteade  of 
Gunnel.  And  he  bade  me  not  take  it  to  Heart  like 
the  late  Bishop  of  Durham,  to  whom  a  like  Accident 
befel,  which  soe  annoyed  him  that  he  died  of  Chagrin. 
I  will  never  again,  howbeit,  write  Aniething  savour- 
ing ever  soe  little  of  Levitie  or  Absurditie.  The 
Saints  keepe  me  to  it  !  And,  to  know  it  from  my 
Exercise  Book,  I  will  henceforthe  bind  a  blue  Ribbon 
round  it.  Furthermore,  I  will  knit  the  sayd  Ribbon 


SIl^THOS.  MOT^IL  97 

in  soe  close  a  Knot,  that  it  shall  be  worth  no  one 
else's  Payns  to  pick  it  out.  Lastlie,  and  for  entire 
Securitie,  I  will  carry  the  Same  in  my  Pouch,  which 
will  hold  bigger  Matters  than  this. 


22nd. 

THIS  Daye,  at  Dinner,  Mr.  Clement  tooke  the  Pis- 
toller's  Place  at  the  Reading-desk  ;  and,  insteade  of 
continuing  the  Subject  in  Hand,  read  a  Paraphrase  of 
the  iO3rde  Psalm  ;  the  Faithfulnesse  and  elegant 
Turne  of  which,  Erasmus  highlie  commended,  though 
he  took  Exceptions  to  the  Phrase  "renewing  thy 
Youth  like  that  of  the  Phoenix,"  whose  fabulous  Story 
he  believed  to  have  beene  unknowne  to  the  Psalmist, 
and,  therefore,  however  poeticall,  unfitt  to  be  intro- 
duced. A  deepe  Blush  on  sweet  Mercy's  Face  ledd 
to  the  Detection  of  the  Paraphrast,  and  drew  on  her 
some  deserved  Commendations.  Erasmus,  turning  to 
my  Father  exclaymed  with  Animation,  "  I  woulde 
call  this  House  the  Academy  of  P/ato,  were  it  not 
Injustice  to  compare  it  to  a  Place  where  the  usuall 
Disputations  concerning  Figures  and  Numbers  were 
onlie  occasionallie  intersperst  with  Disquisitions  con- 
cerning the  moral  Virtues."  Then,  in  a  graver  Mood, 
he  added,  "  One  mighte  envie  you,  but  that  your 
precious  Privileges  are  bound  up  with  soe  paynfulle 
Anxieties.  How  manie  Pledges  have  you  given  to 
Fortune  ! " 

"  If  my  Children  are  to  die  out  of  the  Course  of 
G 


98  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

Nature,  before  theire  Parents,"  Father  firmly  replyed, 
"  I  would  rather  they  died  well-instructed  than 
ignorant." 

"  You  remind  me,"  rejoyns  Erasmus,  of  Phocion  ; 
whose  Wife,  when  he  was  aboute  to  drink  the  fatal 
Cup,  exclaimed,  {  Ah,  my  Husband  !  you  die  inno- 
cent. And  woulde  you,  my  Wife,'  he  returned, 
*  have  me  die  guilty  ? ' ' 

Awhile  after,  Gonellus  askt  leave  to  see  Erasmus  his 
Signet-ring,  which  he  handed  down  to  him.  In  pass- 
ing it  back,  William,  who  was  occupyde  in  carving  a 
Crane,  handed  it  soe  negligentlie  that  it  felle  to  the 
Ground.  I  never  saw  such  a  Face  as  Erasmus  made, 
when  'twas  picked  out  from  the  Rushes  !  And  yet, 
ours  are  renewed  almost  daylie,  which  manie  think 
over  nice.  He  took  it  gingerlie  in  his  faire,  Woman- 
like Hands,  and  washed  and  wiped  it  before  he  put  it 
on  ;  which  escaped  not  my  Step-mother's  displeased 
notice.  Indeede,  these  Dutchmen  are  scrupulouslie 
cleane,  though  Mother  calls  'em  swinish,  because  they 
will  eat  raw  Sallets ;  though,  for  that  Matter,  Father 
loves  Cresses  and  Ramps.  She  alsoe  mislikes  Erasmus 
for  eating  Cheese  and  Butter  together  with  his 
Manchef ;  or  what  he  calls  Boetram  ;  and  for  being, 
generallie,  daintie  at  his  Sizes,  which  she  sayth  is  an 
ill  Example  to  soe  manie  young  People,  and  becometh 
not  one  with  soe  little  Money  in  's  Purse  :  howbcit, 
I  think  'tis  not  Nicetie,  but  a  weak  Stomach,  which 
makes  him  loathe  our  Salt-meat  Commons  from 
Michaelmasse  to  Easter,  and  eschew  Fish  of  the 
coarser  Sort.  He  cannot  breakfaste  on  colde  Milk, 


SI^THOS.  MO<KE  99 

like  Father^  but  liketh  Furmity  a  little  spiced.  At 
Dinner,  he  pecks  at,  rather  than  eats,  Ruffs  and 
Reeves,  Lapwings,  or  anie  smalle  Birds  it  may  chance  ; 
but  affects  Sweets  and  Subtilties,  and  loves  a  Cup  of 
Wine  or  Ale,  stirred  with  Rosemary.  Father  never 
toucheth  the  Wine-cup  but  to  grace  a  Guest,  and 
loves  Water  from  the  Spring.  We  growing  Girls 
eat  more  than  either  ;  and  Father  says  he  loves  to  see 
us  slice  away  at  the  Cob-loaf;  it  does  him  goode. 
What  a  kind  Father  he  is  !  I  wish  my  Step-mother 
were  as  kind.  I  hate  all  sneaping  and  snubbing, 
flowting,  fleering,  pinching,  nipping,  and  such-like ; 
it  onlie  creates  Resentment  insteade  of  Penitence, 
and  lowers  the  Minde  of  either  Partie.  Gillian  throws 
a  Rolling-pin  at  the  Turnspit's  Head,  and  we  call  it 
Low-life  ;  but  we  looke  for  such  Unmannerlinesse 
in  the  Kitchen.  A  Whip  is  onlie  fit  for  Tisiphone. 

As  we  rose  from  Table,  I  noted  Argus  pearcht  on 
the  Window-sill,  eagerlie  watching  for  his  Dinner, 
which  he  looketh  for  as  punctuallie  as  if  he  could  tell 
the  Dial! ;  and  to  please  the  good,  patient  Bird,  till 
the  Scullion  broughte  him  his  Mess  of  Garden-stuff, 
I  fetched  him  some  Pulse,  which  he  took  from  mine 
Hand,  taking  good  Heede  not  to  hurt  me  with  his 
sharp  Beak.  While  I  was  feeding  him,  Erasmus  came 
up,  and  asked  me  concerning  Mercy  Giggs ;  and  I 
tolde  him  how  that  she  was  a  friendlesse  Orphan,  to 
whom  deare  Father  afforded  Protection  and  the  run 
of  the  House  ;  and  tolde  him  of  her  Gratitude,  her 
Meekness,  her  Patience,  her  Docilitie,  her  Aptitude 
for  alle  goode  Works  and  Alms-deeds  j  and  how,  in 


ioo  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

her  little  Chamber,  she  improved  cache  spare  Moment 
in  the  Way  of  Studdy  and  Prayer.  He  repeated 
Friendlesse  ?  she  cannot  be  called  Friendlesse, 
who  hath  More  for  her  Protector,  and  his  Children 
for  Companions  j"  and  then  woulde  heare  more  of  her 
Parents'  sad  Story.  Alsoe,  would  hear  somewhat  of 
Rupert  Allington,  and  how  Father  gained  his  Lawsuit. 
Alsoe,  of  Daisy,  whose  Name  he  tooke  to  be  the  true 
Abbreviation  for  Margaret,  but  I  tolde  him  how  that 
my  Step-sister,  and  Mercy,  and  I,  being  all  three  of  a 
Name,  and  I  being  alwaies  called  Meg,  we  had  in 
Sport  given  one  the  Significative  of  her  characteristic 
Virtue,  and  the  other  that  of  the  French  Marguerite, 
which  may  indeed  be  rendered  either  Pearl  or  Daisy. 
And  Chaucer,  speaking  of  our  English  Daisy,  saith 

"  Si  doute  eft  la  Marguerite" 


2yd. 

SINCE  the  little  Wisdom  I  have  Capacitie  to  acquire, 
soe  oft  gives  me  the  Headache  to  Distraction,  I 
marvel  not  at  Jupiter's  Payn  in  his  Head,  when  the 
Goddess  of  Wisdom  sprang  therefrom  full  growne. 

This  Morn,  to  quiet  the  Payn  brought  on  by  too 
busie  Application,  Mr  Gunnel  would  have  me  close  my 
Book  and  ramble  forth  with  Cecy  into  the  Fields. 
We  strolled  towards  Walham  Greene ;  and  she  was 
seeking  for  Shepherd's  Purses  and  Shepherd's  Needles, 
when  she  came  running  back  to  me,  looking  rather 


THOS.  MO<E  101 


pale.  I  askt  what  had  scared  her,  and  she  made  answer 
that  Gammer  Gurney  was  coming  along  the  Hedge.  I 
bade  her  set  aside  her  Feares  ;  and  anon  we  came  up 
with  Gammer,  who  was  pulling  at  the  purple  Blossoms 
of  the  Deadly  Nightshade.  I  sayd,  "  Gammer,  to  what 
Purpose  gather  that  Weed  ?  knowest  not  'tis  Evill  ?" 

She  sayth,  mumbling,  "  What  GOD  hath  created, 
that  call  not  thou  evill." 

"  Well,  but,"  quo'  I,  "  'tis  Poison." 

"  Aye,  and  Medicine  too,"  returns  Gammer.  "  I 
wonder  what  we  poor  Souls  might  come  to,  if  we  tooke 
Nowt  for  our  Ails  and  Aches  but  what  we  could  buy  o' 
the  Potticary.  We've  got  no  Dr  Clement,  we  poor 
Folks,  to  be  our  Leech  o'  the  Household." 

"But  hast  no  Feare,"  quo'  I,  "of  an  Over-dose  ?" 

"  There's  manie  a  Doctor,"  sayth  she,  with  an  un- 
pleasant Leer,  "  that  hath  given  that  at  first.  In  Time 
he  gets  his  Hand  in  ;  and  I've  had  a  Plenty  o'  Practice 
—  Thanks  to  Self  and  Sister." 

"I  knew  not,"  quoth  I,  "  that  thou  hadst  a  Sister." 

"  How  should  ye,  Mistress,"  returns  she  shortlie, 
"  when  ye  never  comes  nigh  us  ?  We've  grubbed  on 
together  this  many  a  Year." 

"'Tis  soe  far,"  I  returned,  half  ashamed. 

"  Why,  soe  it  be,"  answers  Gammer  ;  "  far  from 
Neighbours,  far  from  Church,  and  far  from  Priest  ; 
howbeit,  my  old  Legs  carries  me  to  your  House  o' 
Fridays  ;  but  I  know  not  whither  I  shall  e'er  come 
agayn  —  the  Rye  Bread  was  soe  hard  last  Time  ;  it 
may  serve  for  young  Teeth,  and  for  them  as  has  got 
none  ;  but  mine,  you  see,  are  onlie  on  the  goe  /  "  and 


102  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

she  opened  her  Mouth  with  a  ghastly  Smile.  "  'Tis 
not,"  she  added,  u  that  I'm  ungratefulle  ;  but  thou 
sees,  Mistress,  I  really  can't  eat  Crusts." 

After  a  moment,  I  asked,  "Where  lies  your  Dwell- 
ing?" 

"  Out  by  yonder,"  quoth  she,  pointing  to  a  shape- 
less Mass  like  a  huge  Bird's  Nest  in  the  Corner  of 
the  Field.  "There  bides  poor  Joan  and  I.  Wilt 
come  and  looke  within,  Mistress,  and  see  how  a 
Christian  can  die  r  " 

I  mutelie  complyed,  in  spite  of  Cecys  pulling  at  my 
Skirts.  Arrived  at  the  wretched  Abode,  which  had 
a  Hole  for  its  Chimney,  and  another  for  Door  at  once 
and  Window,  I  found,  sitting  in  a  Corner,  propped 
on  a  Heap  of  Rushes,  dried  Leaves,  and  olde  Rags, 
an  aged  sick  Woman,  who  seemed  to  have  but  a  little 
While  to  live.  A  Mug  of  Water  stoode  within  her 
Reach  ;  I  saw  none  other  Sustenance  ;  but  in  her 
Visage,  oh,  such  Peace  !  .  .  .  Whispers  Gammer  with 
an  awfulle  Look,  "  She  sees  'em  now  ! " 

"  Sees  who  ? "  quoth  I. 

"  Why,  Angels  in  two  long  Rows,  afore  the  Throne 
of  GOD,  a  bending  of  themselves,  this  Way,  with 
theire  Faces  to  th'  Earth,  and  Arms  stretched  out 
afore  *em." 

"  Hath  she  seen  a  Priest  ?  "  quoth  I. 

u  LORD  love  ye,"  returns  Gammer,  "what  coulde 
a  Priest  doe  for  her  ?  She's  in  Heaven  alreadie.  I 
double  if  she  can  heare  me."  And  then,  in  a  loud 
distinct  Voyce,  quite  free  from  her  usuall  Mumping, 
she  beganne  to  recite  in  English,  "  Blessed  is  every 


THOS.  MO<RE  103 

one  that  feareth  the  LORD,  and  walketh  in  His  Ways," 
etc.  ;  which  the  dying  Woman  hearde,  although 
alreadie  speechlesse  ;  and  reaching  out  her  feeble  Arm 
unto  her  Sister's  Neck,  she  dragged  it  down  till  their 
Faces  touched  ;  and  then,  looking  up,  pointed  at  Some- 
what she  aimed  to  make  her  see  .  .  .  and  we  alle 
looked  up,  but  saw  Noughte.  Howbeit,  she  pointed 
up  three  severall  Times,  and  lay,  as  it  were,  trans- 
figured before  us,  a  gazing  at  some  transporting 
Sighte,  and  ever  and  anon  turning  on  her  Sister 
Looks  of  Love ;  and,  the  While  we  stoode  thus 
agaze,  her  Spiritt  passed  away  without  even  a  Thrill 
or  a  Shudder.  Cecy  and  I  beganne  to  weepe  ;  and, 
after  a  While,  soe  did  Gammer ;  then,  putting  us 
for  the,  she  sayd,  "Goe,  Children,  goe  :  'tis  noe 
goode  crying  ;  and  yet  I'm  thankfulle  to  ye  for  your 
Teares." 

I  sayd,  "  Is  there  Aught  we  can  doe  for  thee  ?" 
She  made  Answer,  "  Perhaps  you  can  give  me 
Tuppence,  Mistress,  to  lay  on  her  poor  Eyelids  and 
keep  'em  down.  Bless  'ee,  bless  'ee  !  You're  like 
the  good  Samaritan — he  pulled  out  Twopence.  And 
maybe,  if  I  come  to  'ee  To-morrow,  you'll  give  me  a 
Lapfulle  of  Rosemarie,  to  lay  on  her  poor  Corpse. 
...  I  know  you've  Plenty.  GOD  be  with  'ee, 
Children  ;  and  be  sure  ye  mind  how  a  Christian  can 
die." 

Soe  we  left,  and  came  Home  sober  enow.  C^sayth, 
"  To  die  is  not  so  fearfulle,  Megy  as  I  thoughte,  but 
shouldepw  fancy  dying  without  a  Priest?  Ishoulde 
not;  and  yet  Gammer  sayd  she  wanted  not  one. 


io4  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

Howbeit  for  certayn,  Gammer  Gurney  is  noe  Witch, 
or  she  woulde  not  soe  prayse  GOD." 

To  conclude,  Father,  on  hearing  Alle,  hath  given 
Gammer  more  than  enow  for  her  present  Needes; 
and  Cecy  and  I  are  the  Almoners  of  his  Mercy. 


June 

YESTERNIGHTE,  being  St  Johns  Eve,  we  went  into 
Town  to  see  the  mustering  of  the  Watch.  Mr  Rastall 
had  secured  us  a  Window  opposite  the  King  s  Head, 
in  Chepe,  where  theire  Majestys  went  in  State  to  see 
the  Show.  The  Streets  were  a  Marvell  to  see,  being 
like  unto  a  Continuation  of  fayr  Bowres  or  Arbours, 
garlanded  acrosse  and  over  the  Doors  with  greene 
Birch,  long  Fennel,  Orpin,  St  Johns  Wort,  white 
Lilies,  and  such  like ;  with  innumerable  Candles 
intersperst,  the  which,  being  lit  up  as  soon  as  'twas 
Dusk,  made  the  Whole  look  like  enchanted  Land  ; 
while,  at  the  same  Time,  the  leaping  over  Bon-fires 
commenced,  and  produced  Shouts  of  Laughter.  The 
Youths  woulde  have  had  Father  goe  downe  and  joyn 
'em  ;  Rupert,  speciallie,  begged  him  hard,  but  he  put 
him  off  with,  "  Sirrah,  you  Goose-cap,  dost  think 
twoulde  befitt  the  Judge  of  the  Sheriff's'  Court?  " 

At  length,  to  the  Sound  of  Trumpets,  came  march- 
ing up  Cheapside  two  Thousand  of  the  Watch,  in 
white  Fustian,  with  the  City  Badge ;  and  seven 
hundred  Cressett  Bearers,  cache  with  his  Fellow  to 
supplie  him  with  Oyl,  and  making,  with  theire  flaring 


SI^THOS.  MQ<KE  105 

Lights,  the  Night  as  Cleare  as  Daye.  After 'em,  the 
Morris-dancers  and  City  Waites ;  the  Lord  Mayor 
on  horseback,  very  fine,  with  his  Giants  and  Pageants; 
and  the  Sheriff  and  his  Watch,  and  his  Giants  and 
Pageants.  The  Streets  very  uproarious  on  our  way 
back  to  the  Barge,  but  the  homeward  Passage  de- 
licious ;  the  Nighte  Ayre  cool ;  and  the  Stars  shining 
brightly.  Father  and  Erasmus  had  some  astronomick 
Talk;  howbeit,  methoughte  Erasmus  less  familiar 
with  the  heavenlie  Bodies  than  Father  is.  After- 
wards they  spake  of  the  King,  but  not  over-freelie, 
by  reason  of  the  Bargemen  overhearing.  Thence,  to 
the  ever-vext  Question  of  Martin  Luther,  of  whome 
Erasmus  spake  in  Terms  of  earneste,  yet  qualifyde 
Prayse. 

"If  Luther  be  innocent,"  quoth  he,  "I  would  not 
run  him  down  by  a  wicked  Faction  ;  if  he  be  in  Error, 
I  would  rather  have  him  reclaymed  than  destroyed ; 
for  this  is  most  agreeable  to  the  Doctrine  of  our  deare 
Lord  and  Master,  who  woulde  not  bruise  the  broken 
Reede,  nor  quenche  the  smoking  Flax."  And  much 
more  to  same  Purpose. 

We  younger  Folks  felle  to  choosing  our  favourite 
Mottoes  and  Devices,  in  which  the  Elders  at  length 
joyned  us.  Mother's  was  loyal — "  Cleave  to  the 
Crown  though  it  hang  on  a  Bush."  Erasmus's  pithie 
— "  Festina  lente."  William  sayd  he  was  indebted  for 
his  to  St.  Paul — u  I  seeke  not  yours,  but  you."  For 
me,  I  quoted  one  I  had  scene  in  an  olde  Countrie 
Church,  "  Mieux  etre  que  paroitre"  which  pleased 
Father  and  Erasmus  much. 


io6  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 


June  25^/2. 

POOR  Erasmus  caughte  colde  on  the  Water  last  Nighte, 
and  keeps  House  to-daye,  taking  warm  Possets.  'Tis 
my  Week  of  Housekeeping  under  Mother's  Guidance, 
and  I  never  had  more  Pleasure  in  it ;  delighting  to 
suit  his  Taste  in  sweete  Things,  which,  methinks,  all 
Men  like.  I  have  enow  of  Time  left  for  Studdy,  when 
alle's  done. 

He  hathe  beene  the  best  Part  of  the  Morning  in 
our  Academia,  looking  over  Books  and  Manuscripts, 
taking  Notes  of  some,  discoursing  with  Mr  Gunnel 
on  others  ;  and,  in  some  Sorte,  interrupting  our 
Morning's  Work  ;  but  how  pleasantlie  !  Besides,  as 
Father  sayth,  "  Varietie  is  not  always  Interruption. 
That  which  occasionallie  lets  and  hinders  our  accus- 
tomed Studdies,  may  prove  to  the  ingenious  noe  less 
profitable  than  theire  Studdies  themselves." 

They  beganne  with  discussing  the  Pronunciation 
of  Latin  and  Greek,  on  which  Erasmus  differeth  much 
from  us,  though  he  holds  to  our  Pronunciation  of  the 
Theta.  Thence,  to  the  absurde  Partie  of  the  Ciceronians 
now  in  Italie,  who  will  admit  noe  Author  save  Tully 
to  be  read  nor  quoted,  nor  any  Word  not  in  his  Writ- 
ings to  be  used.  Thence  to  the  Latinitie  of  the 
Fathers,  of  whose  Style  he  spake  slightlie  enow,  but 
rated  Jerome  above  Augustine.  At  length,  to  his  Greek 
and  Latin  Testament,  of  late  issued  from  the  Presse, 
and  the  incredible  Labour  it  hath  cost  him  to  make 
it  as  perfect  as  possible  :  on  this  Subject  he  so  warmed 


SIl^THOS.  MOT^E  107 

that  Bess  and  I  listened  with  suspended  Breath.  "  May 
it  please  GOD,"  sayth  he,  knitting  ferventlie  his  Hands, 
"  to  make  it  a  Blessing  to  all  Christendom  !  I  look 
for  noe  other  Reward.  Scholars  and  Believers  yet  un- 
born may  have  Reason  to  thank,  and  yet  may  forget 
Erasmus."  He  then  went  on  to  explain  to  Gunnel 
what  he  had  much  felt  in  want  of,  and  hoped  some 
Scholar  might  yet  undertake  ;  to  wit,  a  Sort  of  Index 
Bibliorum^  showing  in  how  manie  Passages  of  Holy 
Writ  occurreth  anie  given  Word,  etc. ;  and  he  e'en 
proposed  it  to  Gunnel,  saying  'twas  onlie  the  Work  of 
Patience  and  Industry,  and  mighte  be  laid  aside,  and 
resumed  as  Occasion  offered,  and  completed  at  Leisure, 
to  the  great  Thankfullenesse  of  Scholars.  ButGunnet 
onlie  smiled  and  shooke  his  Head.  Howbeit,  Erasmus 
set  forth  his  Scheme  soe  playnlie,  that  I,  having  a  Pen 
in  Hand,  did  privilie  note  down  alle  the  Heads  of  the 
same,  thinking,  if  none  else  would  undertake  it,  why 
should  not  I  ?  since  Leisure  and  Industrie  were  alone 
required,  and  since 'twoulde  be  soe  acceptable  to  manie, 
'speciallie  to  Erasmus. 


June  2()th. 

HEARDE  Mother  say  to  Barbara,  "  Be  sure  the  Sirloin 
is  well  basted  for  the  King's  Physician  ;  "  which  avised 
me  that  Dr  Linacre  was  expected.  In  Truth,  he 
returned  with  Father  in  the  Barge  ;  and  they  tooke  a 
Turn  on  the  River  Bank  before  sitting  down  to  Table. 
I  noted  them  from  my  Lattice  •,  and  anon,  Father, 
beckoning  me,  cries,  "  Child,  bring  out  my  favourite 


108  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

Treatyse  on  Fisshynge,  printed  by  Wynkyn  de  Worde ; 
I  must  give  the  Doctor  my  loved  Passage." 

Joyning  'em  with  the  Booke,Ifound  Father  telling 
him  of  the  Roach,  Dace,  Chub,  Barbel,  etc.,  we  oft 
catch  opposite  the  Church  ;  and  hastilie  turning  over 
the  Leaves,  he  beginneth  with  Unction  to  read  the 
Passage  ensuing,  which  I  love  to  the  full  as  much  as  he: — 

He  observeth,  if  the  Angler's  Sport  shoulde  fail 
him,  "he  at  the  best  hathe  his  holsom  Walk  and  mery 
at  his  Ease,  a  swete  Ayre  of  the  swete  Savour  of  the 
Meade  of  Flowers,  that  maketh  him  hungry ;  he 
heareth  the  melodious  Harmonic  of  Fowles,  he  seeth 
the  young  Swans,  Herons,  Ducks,  Cotes,  and  manie 
other  Fowles,  with  theire  Broods,  which  me  seemeth 
better  than  alle  the  Noise  of  Hounds,  Faukenors,  and 
Fowlers  can  make.  And  if  the  Angler  take  Fysshe, 
then  there  is  noe  Man  merrier  than  he  is  in  his 
Spryte."  And,  "Ye  shall  not  use  this  foresaid  crafty 
Disporte  for  no  covetysnesse  in  the  encreasing  and 
sparing  of  your  Money  onlie,  but  pryncipallie  for 
your  Solace,  and  to  cause  the  Health  of  your  Bodie, 
and  speciallie  of  your  Soule,  for  when  ye  purpose  to 
goe  on  your  Disportes  of  Fysshynge,  ye  will  not 
desire  greatlie  manie  Persons  with  you,  which  woulde 
lett  you  of  your  Game.  And  thenne  ye  may  serve 
GOD  devoutlie,  in  saying  affectuouslie  your  customable 
Prayer  ;  and  thus  doing,  ye  shall  eschew  and  voyd 
manie  Vices." 

"  Angling  is  itselfe  a  Vice,"  cries  Erasmus,  from 
the  Thresholde ;  "  for  my  Part  I  will  fish  none,  save 
and  except  for  pickled  Oysters." 


SI^THOS.  MOT{E  109 

"In  the  Regions  below,"  answers  Father ;  and  then 
laughinglie  tells  Linacre  of  his  firste  Dialogue  with 
Erasmus,  who  had  beene  feasting  in  my  Lord  Mayor's 
Cellar  : — "  '  Whence  come  you  ? '  *  From  below.' 
'  What  were  they  about  there  ? '  '  Eating  live  Oysters 
and  drinking  out  of  Leather  Jacks.'  c  Either  you  are 
Erasmus,'  etc.  *  Either  you  are  More  or  Nothing."1 

" '  Neither  more  nor  less,'  you  should  have  re- 
joyned,"  sayth  the  Doctor. 

"  How  I  wish  I  had  !  "  says  Father  ;  "  don't  torment 
me  with  a  Jest  I  might  have  made  and  did  not  make  ; 
'speciallie  to  put  downe  Erasmus." 

"  Concedo  nulli,"  sayth  Erasmus. 

"  Why  are  you  so  lazy  ? "  asks  Linacre ;  "  I  am  sure 
you  can  speak  English  if  you  will." 

"  Soe  far  from  it,"  sayth  Erasmus,  "  that  I  made  my 
Incapacitie  an  Excuse  for  declining  an  English 
Rectory.  Albeit,  you  know  how  Wareham  requited 
me  ;  saying,  in  his  kind,  generous  Way,  I  served  the 
Church,  more  by  my  Pen  than  I  coulde  by  preaching 
Sermons  in  a  countrie  Village." 

Sayth  Linacre,  "  The  Archbishop  hath  made  another 
Remark,  as  much  to  the  Purpose :  to  wit,  that  he 
has  received  from  you  the  Immortalitie  which  Em- 
perors and  Kings  cannot  bestow." 

"  They  cannot  even  bid  a  smoking  Sirloin  retain 
its  Heat  an  Hour  after  it  hath  left  the  Fire,"  sayth 
Father.  u  Tilly-vally  !  as  my  good  Alice  says, — let 
us  remember  the  universal  Doom,  c  Fruges  consumer -e 
natij  and  philosophize  over  our  Ale  and  Bracket." 

"  Not  Cambridge  Ale,  neither,"  sayth  Erasmus. 


no  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

"  Will  you  never  forget  that  unlucky  Beverage  ?  " 
sayth  Father.  "  Why,  Man,  think  how  manie  poor 
Scholars  there  be,  that  content  themselves,  as  I  have 
hearde  one  of  St  John's  declare,  with  a  penny  piece  of 
Beef  amongst  four,  stewed  into  Pottage  with  a  little 
Salt  and  Oatmeal ;  and  that  after  fasting  from  four 
o'clock  in  the  Morning !  Say  Grace  for  us  this 
Daye,  Erasmus,  with  goode  Heart." 

At  Table,  Discourse  flowed  soe  thicke  and  faste 
that  I  mighte  aim  in  vayn  to  chronicle  it — and  why 
should  I?  dwelling  as  I  doe  at  the  Fountayn  Head  ? 
Onlie  that  I  find  Pleasure,  alreadie,  in  glancing  over 
the  foregoing  Pages  whensoever  they  concern  Father 
and  Erasmus,  and  wish  they  were  more  faithfullie  re- 
called and  better  writ.  One  Thing  sticks  by  me — a 
funny  Reply  of  Father's  to  a  Man  who  owed  him 
money  and  who  put  him  off  with  **  Memento  Morierh" 
"  I  bid  you,"  retorted  Father,  "  Memento  Mori  JEris, 
and  I  wish  you  woulde  take  as  goode  Care  to  provide 
for  the  one  as  I  do  for  the  other." 

Linacre  laughed  much  at  this,  and  sayd  "  That 
was  real  Wit  j  a  Spark  struck  at  the  Moment  ;  and 
with  noe  Ill-nature  in  it,  for  I  am  sure  your  Debtor 
coulde  not  help  laughing." 

"  Not  he,"  quoth  Erasmus.  "  Mare's  Drollerie  is 
like  that  of  a  young  Gentlewoman  of  his  Name, 
which  shines  without  burning,"  .  .  .  and,  oddlie 
enow,  he  looked  acrosse  at  me.  I  am  sure  he  meant 
Bess. 


SI1{  THOS.  MO'HE  in 


July  1st. 

PATH  PR  broughte  home  a  strange  Guest  to-daye, — a 
converted  Jew ,  with  grizzlie  Beard,  furred  Gown,  and 
Eyes  that  shone  like  Lamps  lit  in  dark  Cavernes. 
He  had  beene  to  Benmarine  and  Tremefen,  to  the 
Holie  Citie  and  to  Damascus,  to  Urmia  and  Assyria, 
and  I  think  alle  over  the  knowne  World  ;  and  tolde 
us  manie  strange  Tales,  one  hardlie  knew  how  to 
believe ;  as,  for  Example,  of  a  Sea-coast  Tribe,  called 
the  Balouches,  who  live  on  Fish  and  build  theire 
Dwellings  of  the  Bones.  Alsoe,  of  a  Race  of  his 
Countriemen  beyond  Euphrates  who  believe  in  Christ, 
but  know  nothing  of  the  Pope  ;  and  of  whom  were 
the  Magians  that  followed  the  Star.  This  agreeth 
not  with  our  Legend.  He  averred  that,  though  soe 
far  apart  from  theire  Brethren,  theire  Speech  was  the 
same,  and  even  theire  Songs;  and  he  sang  or  chaunted 
one  which  he  sayd  was  common  among  the  Jews  alle 
over  the  World,  and  had  beene  soe  ever  since  theire 
Citie  was  ruinated  and  the  People  captivated,  and  yet 
it  was  never  sett  down  in  Prick-song.  Erasmus,  who 
knows  little  or  nought  of  Hebrew,  listened  to  the 
Words  with  Curiositie,  and  made  him  repeat  them 
twice  or  thrice  :  and  though  I  know  not  the  Character, 
it  seemed  to  me  they  sounded  thus  : — 

Adir  Hu  yivne  betkcha  beccaro, 
El,  b'ne;  El,  b'ne;  El,  b'nc  ; 
Bethcha  becarro. 


ii2  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

Though  Christianish,  he  woulde  not  eat  Pig's  Face ; 
and  sayd  Swine's  Flesh  was  forbidden  by  the  Hebrew 
Law  for  its  unwholesomenesse  in  hot  Countries  and 
hot  Weather,  rather  than  by  way  of  arbitrarie  Pro- 
hibition. Daisy  took  a  great  Dislike  to  this  Man, 
and  woulde  not  sit  next  him. 

In  the  Hay-field  alle  the  Evening.  Swathed  Father 
in  a  Hay-rope,  and  made  him  pay  the  Fine,  which  he 
pretended  to  resist.  Cecy  was  just  about  to  cast  one 
round  Erasmus,  when  her  Heart  failed  and  she  ran 
away,  colouring  to  the  Eyes.  He  sayd,  he  never  saw 
such  pretty  Shame.  Father  reclining  on  the  Hay, 
with  his  Head  on  my  Lap  and  his  Eyes  shut,  Bess  asked 
if  he  were  asleep.  He  made  answer,  "  Yes,  and 
dreaming."  I  askt,  "  Of  what  ?  "  "  Of  a  far-off 
future  Daye,  Meg ;  when  thou  and  I  shall  looke  back 
on  this  Hour,  and  this  Hay-field,  and  my  Head  on 
thy  lap." 

"  Nay,  but  what  a  stupid  Dream,  Mr  More"  says 
Mother.  "  Why,  what  woulde  you  dreame  of,  Mrs 
Alice?  "  "Forsooth,  if  I  dreamed  at  alle,  when  I  was 
wide  awake,  it  shoulde  be  of  being  Lord  Chancellor  at 
the  leaste."  "Well,  Wife,  I  forgive  thee  for  not 
saying  at  the  most.  Lord  Chancellor,  quotha  !  And 
you  woulde  be  Dame  Alicey  I  trow,  and  ride  in  a 
Whirlecote,  and  keep  a  Spanish  Jennet,  and  a  Couple 
of  Greyhounds,  and  wear  a  Train  before  and  behind, 
and  carry  a  Jerfalcon  on  your  Fist."  "  On  my 
Wrist."  **  No,  that's  not  such  a  pretty  Word  as 
t'other  !  Go  to,  go  !  " 

Straying  from  the  others,  to  a  remote  Corner  of 


SI^THOS.  MO<RE  113 

the  Meadow,  or  ever  I  was  aware,  I  came  close  upon 
Gammer  Gurney^  holding  Somewhat  with  much 
Care.  "  Give  ye  good  den,  Mistress  Meg"  quoth 
she,  "  I  cannot  abear  to  rob  the  Birds  of  theire  Nests  ; 
but  I  knows  you  and  yours  be  kind  to  dumb  Creatures, 
soe  here's  a  Nest  o'  young  Owzels  for  ye — and  I 
can't  call  'em  dumb  nowther,  for  they'll  sing  bravelie 
some  o'  these  Days." 

"  How  hast  fared,  of  late,  Gammer  ? "  quoth  I. 
"Why,  well  enow  for  such  as  I,"  she  made 
Answer;  "since  I  lost  the  Use  o'  my  right  Hand, 
I  can  nowther  spin,  nor  nurse  sick  Folk,  but  I  pulls 
Rushes,  and  that  brings  me  a  few  Pence,  and  I  be  a 
good  Herbalist ;  onlie,  because  I  says  one  or  two 
English  Prayers,  and  hates  the  Priests,  some  Folks 
thinks  me  a  Witch."  "  But  why  dost  hate  the 
Priests  ?  "  quoth  I.  "  Never  you  mind,"  she  gave 
Answer,  "I've  Reasons  manie  ;  and  for  my  English 
Prayers,  they  were  taught  me  by  a  Gentleman  I 
nursed,  that's  now  a  Saint  in  Heaven,  along  with 
poor  Joan" 

And  soe  she  hobbled  off,  and  I  felt  kindlie  towards 
her,  I  scarce  knew  why — perhaps  because  she  spake 
soe  lovingly  of  her  dead  Sister,  and  because  of  that 
Sister's  Name.  My  Mother's  Name  was  Joan. 

July  2nd. 

ERASMUS  is   gone.     His  last  Saying  to  Father   was, 
"  They  will  have  you  at  Court  yet ; "  and  Father's 
Answer,  "  When  Plato's  Year  comes  round." 
H 


n4  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

To  me  he  gave  a  Copy,  how  precious  !  of  his 
Testament.  "  You  are  an  elegant  Latinist, 
Margaret"  he  was  pleased  to  say,  "  but,  if  you 
woulde  drink  deeplie  of  the  Well-springs  of  Wisdom, 
applie  to  Greek.  The  Latins  have  onlie  shallow 
Rivulets  ;  the  Greeks,  copious  Rivers,  running  over 
Sands  of  Gold.  Read  Plato ;  he  wrote  on  Marble 
with  a  Diamond  ;  but  above  alle,  read  the  New 
Testament.  'Tis  the  Key  to  the  Kingdom  of 
Heaven." 

To  Mr  Gunnel,  he  said  smiling,  "  Have  a  Care  of 
thyself,  dear  Gone//us,  and  take  a  little  Wine  for  thy 
Stomach's  Sake.  The  Wages  of  most  Scholars  now- 
a-days,  are  weak  Eyes,  Ill-health,  an  empty  Purse, 
and  shorte  Commons.  I  neede  only  bid  thee  beware 
of  the  two  first." 

To  Bess,  "  Farewell,  Bessy  ;  thank  you  for  mend- 
ing my  bad  Latin.  When  I  write  to  you,  I  will  be 
sure  to  signe  myselfe  *  Roterodatnius.'  Farewell, 
sweete  Cecil;  let  me  always  continue  your 'desired 
Amiable.'  And  you,  Jacky, — love  your  Book  a  little 
more." 

"Jack's  deare  Mother,  not  content  with  her  Girls," 
sayth  Father^  "  was  alwaies  wishing  for  a  Boy,  and  at 
last  she  had  one  that  means  to  remain  a  Boy  all  his 
Life." 

"  The  Dutch  Schoolmasters  thoughte  me  dulle  and 
heavie,"  sayth  Erasmus^  soe  there  is  some  Hope  of 
Jacky  yet."  And  soe,  stepped  into  the  Barge,  which 
we  watched  to  Chelsea  Reach.  How  dulle  the  House 
has  beene  ever  since  !  Rupert  and  William  have  had 


THOS.  MO<KE  115 

me  into  the  Pavillion  to  hear  the  Plot  of  a  Miracle- 
play  they  have  alreadie  begunne  to  talke  over  for 
Christmasse,  but  it  seemed  to  me  downrighte  Rubbish. 
Father  sleepes  in  Town  to-nighte,  soe  we  shall  be 
stupid  enow.  Bessy  hath  undertaken  to  work  Father 
a  Slipper  for  his  tender  Foot ;  and  is  happie,  tracing 
for  the  Pattern  our  three  Moor-cocks  and  Colts  ;  but 
I  am  idle  and  tiresome. 

If  I  had  Paper,  I  woulde  beginne  my  projected 
Opus ;  but  I  dare  not  ask  Gunnel  for  anie  more  just 
yet ;  nor  have  anie  Money  to  buy  Some.  I  wish  I 
had  a  couple  of  Angels.  I  think  I  shall  write  to 
Father  for  them  to-morrow  ;  he  alwaies  likes  to  heare 
from  us  if  he  is  twenty-four  Hours  absent,  providing  we 
conclude  not  with  "  I  have  Nothing  more  to  say." 


July  \th. 

I  HAVE  writ  my  Letter  to  Father.  I  almoste  wish, 
now,  that  I  had  not  sent  it.  Rupert  and  Will  still 
full  of  theire  Moralitie,  which  reallie  has  some  Fun  in 
it.  To  ridicule  the  Extravagance  of  those  who,  as 
the  Saying  is,  carry  theire  Farms  and  Fields  on  theire 
Backs,  William  proposes  to  come  in,  all  verdant,  with 
a  reall  Model  of  a  Farm  on  his  Back,  and  a  Wind- 
mill on  his  Head. 

July  Sth. 

How  sweete,  how  gracious  an  Answer  from  Father  I 
John  Harris  has  broughte  me  with  it  the  two  Angels  ; 
less  prized  than  this  Epistle. 


n6  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 


July  loth. 

SIXTEENTH  Birthdaye.  Father  away,  which  made  it 
sadde.  Mother  gave  me  a  payr  of  blue  Hosen  with 
Silk  Clocks ;  Mr  Gunnel,  an  ivorie-handled  Stylus ; 
Bess,  a  Bodkin  for  my  Hair  ;  Daisy,  a  Book-mark  ; 
Mercy,  a  Saffron  Cake  ;  Jack,  a  Basket  ;  and  Cecil,  a 
Nosegay.  Williams  Present  was  fayrest  of  alle,  but 
I  am  hurte  with  him  and  myselfe  ;  for  he  offered  it 
soe  queerlie  and  tagged  it  with  such  ...  I  refused 
it,  and  there's  an  End.  'Twas  unmannerlie  and 
unkinde  of  me,  and  I've  cried  aboute  it  since. 

Father  alwaies  gives  us  a  Birthdaye  Treat  ;  soe, 
contrived  that  Mother  shoulde  take  us  to  see  my  Lord 
Cardinal  of  York  goe  to  Westminster  in  State.  We 
had  a  merrie  Water-partie ;  got  goode  Places  and 
saw  the  Show  ;  Crosse-bearers,  Pillar-bearers,  Ushers 
and  alle.  Himselfe  in  crimson  engrayned  Sattin,  and 
Tippet  of  Sables,  with  an  Orange  in  his  Hand  held 
to's  Nose,  as  though  the  common  Ayr  were  too  vile 
to  breathe.  What  a  pompous  Priest  it  is  !  The 
Archbishop  mighte  well  say,  "  That  Man  is  drunk 
with  too  much  Prosperitie." 

Between  Dinner  and  Supper,  we  had  a  fine  Skirmish 
in  the  Straits  of  Thermopylae.  Mr  Gunnel  headed 
the  Persians,  and  Will  was  Leonidas,  with  a  swashing 
Buckler,  and  a  Helmet  a  Yard  high ;  but  Mr  Gunnel 
gave  him  such  a  Rap  on  the  Crest  that  it  went  over 
the  Wall ;  soe  then  William  thought  there  was 
Nothing  left  for  him  but  to  die.  Howbeit,  as  he  had 


SI^THOS.  MO<I(E  117 

beene  layd  low  sooner  than  he  had  reckoned  on,  he 
prolonged  his  last  Agonies  a  goode  deal,  and  gave  one 
of  the  Persians  a  tremendous  Kick  just  as  they  were 
aboute  to  rifle  his  Pouch.  They  therefore  thoughte 
there  must  be  Somewhat  in  it  they  shoulde  like  to 
see  ;  soe,  helde  him  down  in  spite  of  his  hitting  righte 
and  lefte,  and  pulled  therefrom,  among  sundrie  lesser 
Matters,  a  carnation  Knot  of  mine.  Poor  Varlet,  I 
wish  he  would  not  be  so  stupid. 

After  Supper,  Mother  proposed  a  Concert ;  and  we 
were  alle  singing  a  Rounde,  when,  looking  up,  I  saw 
Father  standing  in  the  Door-way,  with  such  a  happy 
Smile  on  his  Face  !  He  was  close  behind  Rupert  and 
Daisy,  who  were  singing  from  the  same  Book,  and 
advertised  them  of  his  Coming  by  gentlie  knocking 
theire  Heads  together ;  but  I  had  the  firste  Kiss,  even 
before  Mother,  because  of  my  Birthdaye. 


July  nth. 

IT  turns  out  that  Father's  Lateness  Yester-even  was 
caused  by  Press  of  Businesse  ;  a  forayn  Mission  having 
beene  proposed  to  him,  which  he  resisted  as  long  as 
he  could,  but  was  at  length  reluctantlie  induced  to 
accept.  Lengthe  of  his  Stay  uncertayn,  which  casts 
a  Gloom  on  alle  ;  but  there  is  soe  much  to  doe  as  to 
leave  little  Time  to  think,  and  Father  is  busiest  of 
alle  ;  yet  hath  founde  Leisure  to  concert  with  Mother 
for  us  a  Journey  into  the  Country,  which  will  occupy 
some  of  the  Weeks  of  his  Absence.  I  am  full  of 


n8  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

carefulle  Thoughts  and  Forebodings,  being  naturallie 
of  too  anxious  a  Disposition.  Oh,  let  me  caste  alle 
my  Cares  on  another  !  Fecisti  nos  ad  te,  Domine;  et 
inquietum  est  cor  nostrum^  donee  requiescat  in  te. 


May  2jth,  1523. 

'Tis  soe  manie  Months  agone  since  that  I  made  an 
Entry  in  my  Libellus,  as  that  my  Motto,  "  Nulla  Dies 
sine  Linea"  hath  somewhat  of  Sarcasm  in  it.  How 
manie  Things  doe  I  beginne  and  leave  unfinisht  !  and 
yet,  less  from  Caprice  than  lack  of  Strength  ;  like 
him  of  whom  the  Scripture  was  writ, — "  This  Man 
beganne  to  build  and  was  not  able  to  finish."  My 
Opus,  for  instance  ;  the  which  my  Father's  prolonged 
Absence  in  the  Autumn,  and  my  Winter  Visitt  to 
Aunt  Nan  and  Aunt  Fan  gave  me  such  Leisure  to 
carrie  forward.  But  alack  !  Leisure  was  less  to  seeke 
than  Learninge ;  and  when  I  came  back  to  mine  olde 
Taskes,  Leisure  was  awanting  too ;  and  then,  by 
reason  of  my  sleeping  in  a  separate  Chamber,  I  was 
enabled  to  steale  Hours  from  the  earlie  Morn  and 
Hours  from  the  Night,  and,  like  unto  Solomon's 
virtuous  Woman,  my  Candle  went  not  out.  But 
'twas  not  to  Purpose  that  I  worked,  like  the  virtuous 
Woman,  for  I  was  following  a  Jack-o-Lantern  ;  having 
forsooke  the  straight  Path  laid  downe  by  Erasmus  for 
a  foolish  Path  of  mine  owne ;  and  soe  I  toyled,  and 
blundered,  and  puzzled,  and  was  mazed ;  and  then 
came  on  that  Payn  in  my  Head.  Father  sayd, "  What 


SI^THOS.  M01(E  119 

makes  Meg  soe  pale  ?"  and  I  sayd  not  :  and,  at  the 
last,  I  tolde  Mother  there  was  somewhat  throbbing 
and  twisting  in  the  Back  of  mine  head,  like  unto  a 
little  Worm  that  woulde  not  die ;  and  she  made 
Answer,  "Ah,  a  Maggot,"  and  soe  by  her  Scoff  I 
was  shamed.  Then  I  gave  over  mine  Opus,  but  the 
Payn  did  not  yet  goe  j  soe  then  I  was  longing  for  the 
deare  Pleasure,  and  fondlie  turning  over  the  Leaves, 
and  wondering  woulde  Father  be  surprised  and  pleased 
with  it  some  Daye,  when  Father  himself  came  in  or 
ever  I  was  aware.  He  say th, "  What  hast  thou,  Meg  ?  " 
I  faltered  and  woulde  sett  it  aside.  He  sayth,  "  Nay, 
let  me  see  j "  and  soe  takes  it  from  me  ;  and  after  the 
firste  Glance  throws  himself  into  a  Seat,  his  Back  to 
me,  and  firste  runs  it  hastilie  through,  then  beginnes 
with  Methode  and  such  Silence  and  Gravitie  as  that 
I  trembled  at  his  Side,  and  felt  what  it  must  be  to 
stand  a  Prisoner  at  the  Bar,  and  he  the  Judge.  Some- 
times I  thought  he  must  be  pleased,  at  others  not ;  at 
lengthe,  alle  my  fond  Hopes  were  ended  by  his  crying, 
"  This  will  never  doe.  Poor  Wretch,  hath  this  then 
beene  thy  Toyl  ?  How  couldst  findTime  for  soe  much 
Labour?  forherehath  beene  Trouble  enowandtospare. 
Thou  must  have  stolen  it,  sweet  Meg^  from  the  Night, 
and  prevented  the  Morning  Watch.  Most  dear'st  ! 
thy  Father's  owne  loved  child  ;  "  and  soe,  caressing  me 
till  I  gave  over  my  shame  and  Disappointment. 

"  I  neede  not  to  tell  thee,  Meg"  Father  sayth,  "of  the 
unprofitable  Labour  of  Sisyphus,  nor  of  drawing  Water 
in  a  Sieve.  There  are  some  Things,  most  deare  one^ 
that  a  Woman,  if  she  trieth,  may  do  as  well  as  a  Man  ; 


i20  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

and  some  she  cannot,  and  some  she  had  better  not. 
Now,  I  tell  thee  firmlie,  since  the  first  Payne  is  the 
leaste  sharpe,  that,  despite  the  Spiritt  and  Genius 
herein  shewn,  I  am  avised  'tis  Work  thou  canst  not 
and  Work  thou  hadst  better  not  doe.  But  judge  for 
thyselfe  ;  if  thou  wilt  persist,  thou  shalt  have  Leisure 
and  Quiet,  and  a  Chamber  in  my  new  Building,  and 
alle  the  Help  my  Gallery  of  Books  may  afford.  But 
thy  Father  says,  Forbear." 

Soe,  what  coulde  I  say,  but  "  My  Father  shall 
never  speak  to  me  in  vayn." 

Then  he  gathered  the  Papers  up  and  sayd,  "  Then 
I  shall  take  Temptation  out  of  your  Way  ;  "  and 
pressing  'em  to  his  Heart  as  he  did  soe,  sayth,  "  They 
are  as  deare  to  me  as  they  can  be  to  you  ;  "  and  soe 
left  me,  looking  out  as  though  I  noted  (but  I  noted 
not)  the  cleare-shining  Thames.  'Twas  Twilighte, 
and  I  stoode  there  I  know  not  how  long,  alone  and 
lonely  ;  with  Tears  coming,  I  knew  not  why,  into 
mine  Eyes.  There  was  a  Weight  in  the  Ayr,  as  of 
coming  Thunder  ;  the  Screaming,  ever  and  anon,  of 
Juno  and  Argus^  inclined  me  to  Mellancholie,  as  it 
alwaies  does  ;  and  at  length  I  beganne  to  note  the 
Moon  rising,  and  the  deepening  Clearnesse  of  the 
Water,  and  the  lazy  Motion  of  the  Barges,  and  the 
Flashes  of  Light  whene'er  the  Rowers  dipt  theire 
Oars.  And  then  I  beganne  to  attend  to  the  Cries 
and  different  Sounds  from  acrosse  the  Water,  and 
the  Tolling  of  a  distant  Bell ;  and  I  felle  back  on  mine 
olde  heart-sighinge,  "  Fecisti  nos  ad  te,  Doming;  et 
inquietum  est  cor  nostrum,  donee  requiescat  in  te" 


SI^THOS.  MO<F(E  121 

Or  ever  the  Week  was  gone,  my  Father  had  con- 
trived for  me  another  Journey  to  New  Hail,  to  abide 
with  the  Lay  Nuns,  as  he  calleth  them,  Aunt  Nan  and 
AuntFan,  whom  my  stepmother  loveth  not,  but  whom 
I  love  and  whom  Father  loveth.  Indeede,  'tis  sayd  in 
Essex  that  at  first  he  inclined  to  Aunt  Nan  rather 
than  to  my  Mother;  but  that,  perceiving  my  Mother 
affected  his  Companie  and  Aunt  Nan  affected  it  not, 
he  diverted  his  hesitating  Affections  unto  her  and 
took  her  to  wife.  Howbeit,  Aunt  Nan  loveth  him 
dearlie  as  a  Sister  ought ;  indeede,  the  loveth  alle, 
except,  methinketh,  herself,  to  whom,  alone,  she  is 
rigid  and  severe.  How  holie  are  my  Aunts'  Lives  ! 
Cloistered  Nuns  could  not  be  more  pure,  and  could 
scarce  be  as  usefulle.  Though  wise,  they  can  be  gay  ; 
though  noe  longer  young,  they  love  the  Young. 
And  theire  Reward  is,  the  Young  love  them  ;  and  I 
am  fulle  sure  in  this  World  they  seeke  noe  better. 

Returned  to  Chelsea,  I  spake  much  in  Prayse  of 
mine  Aunts,  and  of  single  Life.  On  a  certayn 
Evening,  we  Maids  were  sett  at  our  Needles  and 
Samplers  on  the  Pavillion  Steps  ;  and,  as  Follie  will 
out,  'gan  talk  of  what  we  would  fayn  have  to  our 
Lots,  shoulde  a  goode  Fairie  starte  up  and  grant 
cache  a  Wish.  Daisy  was  for  a  Countess's  Degree, 
with  Hawks  and  Hounds.  Bess  was  for  founding  a 
College,  Mercy  a  Hospital,  and  she  spake  soe  experi- 
mentallie  of  its  Conditions  that  I  was  fayn  to  go 
Partners  with  her  in  the  same.  Cecy  commenced, 
"  Supposing  I  were  married  ;  if  once  that  I  were 
married " — on  which,  Father^  who  had  come  up 


122  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

unperceived,  burst  out  laughing  and  sayth,  "  Well, 
Dame,  Cecily,  and  what  State  would  you  keep  ? " 
Howbeit,  as  he  and  I  afterwards  paced  together,  juxta 
Eluvium,  he  did  say,  "Mercy  hath  well  propounded 
the  Conditions  of  an  Hospital  or  Alms-house  for  aged 
and  sick  Folk,  and  'tis  a  Fantasie  of  mine  to  sett  even 
such  an  one  afoot,  and  give  you  the  Conduct  of 
the  same." 

From  this  careless  Speech,  dropped  as  'twere  by 
the  Way,  hath  sprung  mine  House  of  Refuge  !  and 
oh,  what  Pleasure  have  I  derived  from  it  !  How 
good  is  my  Father  !  how  the  Poor  bless  him  !  and 
how  kind  is  he,  through  them,  to  me  !  Laying  his 
Hand  kindly  on  my  Shoulder,  this  Morning,  he  sayd, 
"  Meg,  how  fares  it  with  thee  now  ?  Have  I  cured 
the  Payn  in  thy  Head  ?"  Then,  putting  the  House- 
key  into  mine  Hand,  he  laughingly  added,  "'Tis 
now  yours,  my  Joy,  by  Livery  and  Seisin.1* 


Aug,  6th. 

I  WISH  William  would  give  me  back  my  Testament. 
'Tis  one  thing  to  steal  a  Knot  or  a  Posie,  and  another 
to  borrow  the  most  valuable  Book  in  the  House,  and 
keep  it  Week  after  Week.  He  soughte  it  with  a 
kind  of  Mysterie,  soe  as  that  I  forbeare  to  ask  it  of 
him  in  Companie,  lest  I  should  doe  him  an  ill  Turn  ; 
and  yet  I  have  none  other  Occasion. 

Alle  Parties  are  striving  which  shall  have  Erasmus, 
and  alle  in  vayn.  E'en  thus  it  was  with  him  when 
he  was  here  last, — the  Queen  would  have  had  him  for 


SI^THOS.  MO<KE  123 

her  Preceptor,  the  King  and  Card'mall  prest  on  him  a 
royall  Apartment  and  Salarie,  Oxford  and  Cambridge 
contended  for  him,  but  his  Saying  was,  "  Alle  these  I 
value  less  than  my  Libertie,  my  Studies,  and  my 
literarie  Toyls."  How  much  greater  is  he  than  those 
who  woulde  confer  on  him  Greatnesse  !  Noe  Man  of 
Letters  hath  equall  Reputation,  or  is  soe  much 
courted. 


Aug,  1th. 

YESTER-EVEN,  after  overlooking  the  Men  playing  at 
Loggats,  Father  and  I  strayed  away  along  Thermopylae 
into  the  Home-field ;  and  as  we  sauntered  together 
under  the  Elms,  he  sayth  with  a  Sigh,  "  Jack  is  Jack 
and  no  More  ...  he  will  never  be  anything.  An' 
'twere  not  for  my  beloved  Wenches,  I  should  be  an 
unhappy  Father.  But  what  though  ! — My  Meg  is 
better  unto  me  than  ten  Sons ;  and  it  maketh  no 
Difference  at  Harvest-time  whether  our  Corn  were 
put  into  the  Ground  by  a  Man  or  a  Woman." 

While  I  was  turning  in  my  Mind  what  Excuse  I 
might  make  for  John,  Father  taketh  me  at  unawares 
by  a  sudden  Change  of  Subject ;  saying,  "Come,  tell 
me,  Meg,  why  canst  not  affect  Will  Roper?" 

I  was  a  good  while  silent,  at  length  made  Answer, 
"  He  is  so  unlike  alle  I  esteem  and  admire  ...  so  un- 
like alle  I  have  been  taught  to  esteem  and  admire  by 
you."— 

"  Have  at  you,"  he  returned  laughing,  "I  wist  not 
I  had  been  sharpening  Weapons  agaynst  myself. 


124  rHE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

True,  he  is  neither  Achilla  nor  Hector,  nor  even  Paris, 
but  yet  well  enough,  meseems,  as  Times  go — smarter 
and  comelier  than  either  Heron  or  Dancey." 

I,  faltering,  made  Answer,  "  Good  Looks  affect  me 
but  little — 'tis  in  his  better  Part  I  feel  the  Want.  He 
cannot  .  .  .  discourse,  for  instance,  to  one's  Mind  and 
Soul,  like  unto  you,  dear  Father,  or  Erasmus." 

"  I  should  marvel  if  he  could,"  returned  Father 
gravelie,  "  thou  art  mad,  my  daughter,  to  look,  in  a 
Youth  of  Witts  Years,  for  the  Mind  of  a  Man  of 
fifty.  What  were  Erasmus  and  I,  dost  thou  suppose, 
at  Will's  age  ?  Alas,  Meg,  I  should  not  like  you  to 
know  what  I  was  !  Men  called  me  the  Boy-sage,  and 
I  know  not  what,  but  in  my  Heart  and  Head  was  a 
World  of  Sin  and  Folly.  Thou  mightst  as  well  ex- 
pect Will  to  have  my  Hair,  Eyes,  and  Teeth,  alle 
getting  the  worse  for  Wear,  as  to  have  the  Fruits  of 
my  life-long  Experience,  in  some  Cases  full  dearly 
bought.  Take  him  for  what  he  is,  match  him  by  the 
young  Minds  of  his  owne  standing  :  consider  how 
long  and  closelie  we  have  known  him.  His  Parts 
are,  surelie,  not  amiss  :  he  hath  more  Book-lore  than 
Dancey,  more  mother  Wit  than  Ellington." 

"  But  why  need  I  to  concern  myself  about  him  ?  " 
I  exclaymed  ;  "  Will  is  very  well  in  his  way  :  why 
should  we  cross  each  other's  Paths  ?  I  am  young,  I 
have  much  to  learn,  I  love  my  Studdies, — why 
interrupt  them  with  other  and  less  wise  Thoughts  ? " 

"  Because  nothing  can  be  wise  that  is  not  practical," 
returned  Father, "  and  I  teach  my  Children  Philosophic 
to  fitt  them  for  living  in  the  World,  not  above  it. 


SI^THOS.  M01(E  125 

One  may  spend  a  Life  in  dreaming  over  Plato,  and 
yet  goe  out  of  it  without  leaving  the  World  a  whit 
the  better  for  our  having  made  Part  of  it.  'Tis  to 
little  Purpose  we  studdy,  if  it  onlie  makes  us  exact 
Perfections  in  others  which  they  may  in  vayn  seek  for 
in  ourselves.  It  is  not  even  necessary  or  goode  for  us 
to  live  entirelie  with  congeniall  Spiritts.  The  vigor- 
ous tempers  the  inert,  the  passionate  is  evened  by  the 
cool-tempered,  the  prosaic  balances  the  visionarie. 
Woulde  thy  Mother  suit  me  better,  dost  thou  sup- 
pose, if  she  coulde  discuss  Polemicks  like  Luther  or 
Melancthon?  E'en  thine  owne  sweet  Mother,  Meg) 
was  less  affected  to  Studdy  than  thou  art, — she  learnt 
to  love  it  for  my  Sake,  but  I  made  her  what  she  was." 
And,  with  a  suddain  Burste  of  fond  Recollection, 
he  hid  his  Eyes  on  my  Shoulder,  and  for  a  Moment 
or  soe,  cried  bitterlie.  As  for  me,  I  shed,  oh  !  such 
salt  Teares  !  .  .  . 

Aug.  I'Jth. 

ENTERING,  o*  the  suddain,  into  Mercy  s  Chamber,  I 
founde  her  all  be-wept  and  waped,  poring  over  an  old 
Kirtle  of  Mother's  she  had  bidden  her  re-line  with 
Buckram.  Coulde  not  make  out  whether  she  were 
sick  of  her  Task,  had  had  Words  with  Mother,  or  had 
some  secret  Inquietation  of  her  owne ;  but,  as  she  is  a 
Girl  of  few  Words,  I  found  I  had  best  leave  her  alone 
after  a  Caress  and  kind  Saying  or  two.  We  alle  have 
our  Troubles. 


126  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 


Wednesday,  \yth. 

TRULIE  may  I  say  soe.  Here  have  they  ta'en  a  Fever 
of  some  low  Sorte  in  my  House  of  Refuge,  and 
M 'other ,  fearing  it  may  be  the  Sicknesse,  will  not 
have  me  goe  neare  it,  lest  I  should  bring  it  home. 
Mercy^  howbeit,  hath  besought  her  soe  earnestlie  to 
let  her  goe  and  nurse  the  Sick,  that  Mother  hath 
granted  her  Prayer,  on  Condition  she  returneth  not 
till  the  Fever  bates  .  .  .  thus  setting  her  Life  at  lower 
Value  than  our  owne.  Deare  Mercy  !  I  would  fayn 
be  her  Mate. 

2 1  st. 

WE  are  alle  mightie  glad  that  Rupert  Allington  hath  at 
lengthe  zealouslie  embraced  the  Studdyofthe  Law. 
'Twas  much  to  be  feared  at  the  Firste  there  was  noe 
Application  in  him,  and  though  we  alle  pitied  him 
when  Father  first  broughte  him  Home  a  pillaged, 
portionlesse  Client,  with  none  other  to  espouse  his 
Rightes,  yet  'twas  a  Pitie  soone  allied  with  Contempt 
when  we  founde  how  emptie  he  was,  caring  for 
nought  but  Archerie  and  Skittles  and  the  Popinjaye 
out  o'  the  House,  and  Dicing  and  Tables  within, 
which  Father  would  on  noe  Excuse  permitt.  Soe  he 
had  to  conform,  ruefullie  enow,  and  hung  piteouslie 
on  Hand  for  awhile.  I  mind  me  of  Bess's  saying, 
about  Christmasst)  "  Heaven  send  us  open  Weather 
while  Allington  is  here  ;  I  don't  believe  he  is  one  that 


SI^THOS.  MO<%E  127 

will  bear  shutting  up."  Howbeit,  he  seemed  to  incline 
towards  Daisy,  who  is  handsome  enow,  and  cannot  be 
hindered  of  Two-hundred  Pounds,  and  soe  he  kept 
within  Bounds,  and  when  Father  got  him  his  Cause 
he  was  mightilie  thankfulle,  and  woulde  have  left  us 
out  of  Hand,  but  Father  persuaded  him  to  let  his 
Estate  recover  itself,  and  turn  the  mean  Time  to 
Profitt,  and,  in  short,  soe  wrought  on  him,  that  he 
hath  now  become  a  Student  in  righte  earneste. 


12nd. 

SOE  we  are  going  to  lose  not  only  Mr  Clement,  but 
Mr  Gunnel !  How  sorrie  we  alle  are  !  It  seemeth 
he  hath  long  been  debating  for  and  agaynst  the 
Church,  and  at  length  finds  his  Mind  soe  stronglie 
set  towards  it,  as  he  can  keep  out  of  it  noe  longer. 
Well !  we  shall  lose  a  good  Master,  and  the  Church 
will  gayn  a  good  Servant.  Drew  will  supplie  his 
Place,  that  is,  according  to  his  beste,  but  our  worthy 
Welshman  careth  soe  little  for  young  People,  and  is 
soe  abstract  from  the  World  about  him,  that  we  shall 
oft  feel  our  Loss.  Father  hath  promised  Gonellus  his 
Interest  with  the  Cardinal!. 

I  fell  into  Disgrace  for  holding  Speech  with  Mercy 
over  the  Pales,  but  she  is  confident  there  is  noe 
Danger  ;  the  Sick  are  doing  well,  and  none  of  the 
Whole  have  fallen  Sick.  She  sayth  Gammer  Gurney 
is  as  tender  of  her  as  if  she  were  her  Daughter,  and 
will  let  her  doe  noe  vile  or  paynfull  Office,  soe  as  she 


128  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

hath  little  to  doe  but  read  and  pray  for  the  poor  Souls, 
and  feed  'em  with  savourie  Messes,  and  they  are  alle 
so  harmonious  and  full  of  Cheer,  as  to  be  like  Birds  in 
a  Nest.  Mercy  deserves  theire  Blessings  more  than 
I.  Were  I  a  free  Agent,  she  should  not  be  alone  now, 
and  I  hope  ne'er  to  be  withheld  therefrom  agayn. 


BUSIED  with  my  Flowers  the  chief  o'  the  Forenoon, 
I  was  fayn  to  rest  in  the  Pavilion,  when  entering 
therein,  whom  shoulde  I  stumble  upon  but  William, 
layd  at  length  on  the  Floor,  with  his  Arms  under  his 
Head,  and  his  Book  on  the  Ground.  I  was  with- 
drawing brisklie  enow,  when  he  called  out,  "  Don't 
goe  away,  since  you  are  here,"  in  a  Tone  soe  rough, 
soe  unlike  his  usuall  Key,  as  that  I  paused  in  a  Maze, 
and  then  saw  that  his  eyes  were  red.  He  sprung  to 
his  Feet  and  sayd,  "  Meg,  come  and  talk  to  me  ;  "  and, 
taking  my  Hand  in  his,  stepped  quicklie  forthe  with- 
out another  Word  sayd,  till  we  reached  the  Elm-tree 
Walk.  I  marvelled  to  see  him  soe  moven,  and  ex- 
pected to  hear  Somewhat  that  shoulde  displease  me, 
scarce  knowing  what ;  however,  I  might  have  guest 
at  it  from  then  till  now,  without  ever  nearing  the 
Truth.  His  first  Words  were,  "I  wish  Erasmus  had 
ne'er  crost  the  Thresholde ;  he  has  made  me  very 
unhappie ; "  then,  seeing  me  stare,  "Be  not  his 
Council  just  now,  deare  Meg,  but  bind  up,  if  thou 
canst,  the  Wounds  he  has  made.  .  .  .  There  be  some 
Wounds,  thou  knowest,  though  but  of  a  cut  Finger 


SI^THOS.  MO<%E  129 

or   the  like,  that  we  cannot  well    bind  up   for  our- 
selves." 

I  made  Answer,  "  I  am  a  young  and  unskilled 
Leech." 

He  replied,  "  But  you  have  a  quick  Wit,  and 
Patience,  and  Kindnesse,  and  for  a  Woman,  are  not 
scant  of  Learning." 

"  Nay,"  I  sayd,  "  but  Mr  Gunnel— 

"  Gunnel  would  be  the  Last  to  help  me,"  interrupts 
Will)  "  nor  can  I  speak  to  your  Father.  He  is  alwaies 
too  busie  now  .  .  .  besides, " 

c<  Father  Francis  ?  "  I  put  in. 

"  Father  Francis  ?  "  repeats  Will)  with  a  shake  o* 
the  Head  and  a  ruefulle  Smile;  "dost  thou  think, 
Meg)  he  coulde  answer  me  if  I  put  to  him  Pilate's 
Question,  « What  is  Truth  ? '  " 

"  We  know  alreadie,"  quoth  I. 

Sayth  Will)  "  What  do  we  know  ?  " 

I  paused,  then  made  Answer  reverentlie,  "That 
Jesus  is  the  Way,  the  Truth,  and  the  Life." 

"  Yes,"  he  exclaymed,  clapping  his  Hands  together 
in  a  Strange  Sort  of  Passion  ;  "  that  we  doe  know, 
blessed  be  GOD,  and  other  Foundation  can  or  ought  noe 
Man  to  lay  than  that  is  layd,  which  is  JESUS  CHRIST. 
But,  Meg)  is  this  the  Principle  of  our  Church  ?  " 

"Yea,  verily,"  I  steadfastlie  replied. 

"Then,  how  has  it  beene  overlayd,"  he  hurriedlie 
went  on,  "  with  Men's  Inventions  !  St  Paul  speaks 
of  a  Sacrifice  once  offered  :  we  holde  the  Host  to  be 
a  continuall  Sacrifice.  Holy  Writ  telleth  us,  where 
a  tree  falls  it  must  lie ;  we  are  taughte  that  our 
I 


i go  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

Prayers  may  free  Souls  from  Purgatorie.  The  Word 
sayth,  <  By  Faith  ye  are  saved  ; '  the  Church  sayth, 
we  may  be  saved  by  our  Works.  It  is  written, 
'  The  Idols  he  shall  utterly  abolish  ; '  we  worship 
Figures  of  Gold  and  Silver.  .  .  ."  u  Hold,  hold," 
I  sayd,  "  I  dare  not  listen  to  this.  .  .  .  You  are 
wrong,  you  know  you  are  wrong." 

"  How  and  where  ?  "  he  sayth  ;  "  onlic  tell  me. 
I  long  to  be  put  righte." 

"  Our  Images  are  but  Symbols  of  our  Saints,"  I 
made  Answer  ;  "  'tis  onlie  the  Ignorant  and  Unlearned 
that  worship  the  mere  Wood  and  Stone." 

"  But  why  worship  Saints  at  alle  ?  "  persisted  Will; 
"  where's  your  Warrant  for  it  ?  " 

I  sayd,  "  Heaven  has  warranted  it  by  sundrie  and 
speciall  Miracles  at  divers  Times  and  Places.  I  may 
say  to  you,  Will,  as  Socrates  to  Agathon,  l  You  may 
easilie  argue  agaynst  me,  but  you  cannot  argue 
agaynst  the  Truth.' ' 

"  Oh,  put  me  not  off  with  Plato"  he  impatientlie 
replyed,  "  refer  me  but  to  Holie  Writ." 

"  How  can  I,"  quoth  I,  "  when  you  have  ta'en 
away  my  Testament  ere  I  had  half  gone  through  it  ? 
'Tis  this  Book,  I  fear  me,  poor  Will,  hath  unsettled 
thee.  Our  Church,  indeed,  sayth  the  Unlearned 
wrest  it  to  theire  Destruction." 

"  And  yet  the  Apostle  sayth,"  rejoyned  Will,  "  that 
it  contayns  alle  Things  necessarie  to  our  Salvation." 

"Doubtlesse  it  doth,  if  we  knew  but  where  to 
find  them,"  I  replied. 

"And  how  find,  unlesse  we  seeke?"  he  pursued, 


SI^THOS.  MO<RE  131 

"  and  how  know  which  Road  to  take,  when  we  find 
the  Scripture  and  the  Church  at  Issue  ? " 

"  Get  some  wiser  Head  to  advise  us,"  I  rejoyned. 

"  But  an'  if  the  Obstacle  remains  the  same  ? " 

"  I  cannot  suppose  that,"  I  somewhat  impatientlie 
returned,  "  GOD'S  Word  and  GOD'S  Church  must 
agree  ;  'tis  only  we  that  make  them  at  Issue." 

"  Ah,  Meg,  that  is  just  such  an  Answer  as  Father 
Francis  mighte  give — it  solves  noe  Difficultie.  If,  to 
alle  human  Reason,  they  pull  opposite  Ways,  by 
which  shall  we  abide  ?  I  know ;  I  am  certain. 
'  T«,  Domine  Jtsu,  es  Justicia  mea  ! ' 

He  looked  soe  rapt,  with  claspt  Hands  and  upraysed 
Eyes,  as  that  I  coulde  not  but  look  on  him  and  hear 
him  with  Solemnitie.  At  length  I  sayd,  "  If  you  know 
and  are  certayn,  you  have  noe  longer  anie  Doubts  for 
me  to  lay,  and  with  your  Will,  we  will  holde  this 
Discourse  noe  longer,  for  however  moving  and  how- 
ever considerable  its  Subject  Matter  may  be,  it 
approaches  forbidden  Ground  too  nearlie  for  me  to 
feel  it  safe,  and  I  question  whether  it  savoureth  not  of 
Heresie.  However,  Will,  I  most  heartilie  pitie  you, 
and  will  pray  for  you." 

"  Do,  Meg,  do,"  he  replyed,  "and  say  nought  to 
any  one  of  this  Matter." 

"  Indeede  I  shall  not,  for  I  think  'twoulde  bring 
you  if  not  me  into  Trouble ;  but,  since  thou  haste 
soughte  my  Council,  Will,  receive  it  now  and  take 
it.  .  .  ." 

He  sayth,  "  What  is  it  ? " 

"  To    read    less,   pray    more,    fast,   and    use   such 


132  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

Discipline  as  our  Church  recommends,  and  I  question 
not  this  Temptation  will  depart.  Make  a  fayr 
Trial!." 

And  soe,  away  from  him,  though  he  woulde  fain 
have  sayd  more  ;  and  I  have  kept  mine  own  Worde 
of  praying  for  him  full  earnestlie,  for  it  pitieth  me  to 
see  him  in  such  Case. 

Sept.  2nd. 

POOR  Will,  I  never  see  him  look  grave  now,  nor  heare 
him  sighe,  without  thinking  I  know  the  Cause  of  his 
secret  Discontentation.  He  hath,  I  believe,  followed 
my  Council  to  the  Letter,  for  though  the  Men's 
Quarter  of  the  House  is  soe  far  aparte  from  ours,  it 
hath  come  rounde  to  me  through  Barbara,  who  had 
it  from  her  Brother,  that  Mr  Roper  hath  of  late  lien 
on  the  Ground,  and  used  a  knotted  Cord.  As  'tis 
one  of  the  Acts  of  Mercy  to  relieve  others,  when  we 
can,  from  Satanic  Doubts  and  Inquietations,  I  have 
been  at  some  Payns  to  make  an  Abstracte  of  such 
Passages  from  the  Fathers,  and  such  Narratives  of 
noted  and  undeniable  Miracles  as  cannot,  I  think, 
but  carry  Conviction  with  them,  and  I  hope  they 
may  minister  to  his  Soul's  Comfort. 

Tuesday,  ^th. 

SUPPED  with  my  Lord  Sands.  Mother  played  Mum- 
chance  with  my  Lady,  but  Father,  who  saith  he 
woulde  rather  feast  a  hundred  poor  Men  than  eat  at 
one  rich  Man's  Table,  came  not  in  till  late,  on  Plea 


SI^THOS.  MO<%E  133 

of  Businesse.  My  Lord  toldc  him  the  King  had 
visitted  him  not  long  agone,  and  was  soe  well  content 
with  his  Manor  as  to  wish  it  were  his  owne,  for  the 
singular  fine  Ayr  and  pleasant  growth  of  Wood.  In 
fine,  wound  up  the  Evening  with  Musick.  My  Lady 
hath  a  Pair  of  fine-toned  Clavichords,  and  a  Mando- 
line that  stands  five  Feet  high  ;  the  largest  in  England^ 
except  that  of  the  Lady  Mary  Dudley.  The  Sound, 
indeed,  is  powerfull,  but  methinketh  the  Instrument 
ungaynlie  for  a  Woman.  Lord  Sands  sang  us  a  new 
Ballad,  «  The  Kings  Hunt's  up"  which  Father  affected 
hugelie.  I  lacked  Spiritt  to  sue  my  Lord  for  the 
Words,  he  being  soe  free-spoken  as  alwaies  to  dash 
me  ;  howbeit,  I  mind  they  ran  somewhat  thus.  .  .  . 

"  The  Hunt  is  up,  the  Hunt  is  «/>, 
And  it  is  well  nigh  Daye, 
Harry  our  King  has  gone  hunting 
To  bring  his  Deere  to  baye. 
The  East  is  bright  iv'ith  Morning  Light  e^ 
And  Darkness  it  is  fled, 
And  the  merrie  Horn  ivakes  up  the  Morn 
To  leave  his  idle  Bed. 
Beholde  the  Skies  with  golden  Dyes, 
Are  .   .  ." 

— The  Rest  hath  escaped  me,  albeit  I  know  there 
was  some  Burden  of  Hey-tantara,  where  my  Lord  did 
stamp  and  snap  his  Fingers.  He  is  a  merry  Heart. 


134  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 


1524,  October. 

SAYTH  Lord  Rutland  to  my  Father,  in  his  acute 
sneering  Way,  u  Ah,  ah,  Sir  Thomas,  Honores  mutant 
Mores." 

"  Not  so,  in  Faith,  my  Lord,"  returns  Father,  "  but 
have  a  Care  lest  we  translate  the  Proverb,  and  say 
Honours  change  Manners." 

It  served  him  right,  and  the  Jest  is  worth  preserv- 
ing, because  'twas  not  premeditate,  as  my  Lord's  very 
likely  was,  but  retorted  at  once  and  in  Self-defence. 
I  don't  believe  Honours  have  changed  the  Mores. 
As  Father  told  Mother,  there's  the  same  Face  under 
the  Hood.  'Tis  comique,  too,  the  Fulfilment  of 
Erasmus  his  Prophecy.  Plato's  Year  has  not  come 
rounde,  but  they  have  got  Father  to  Court, and  the  King 
seems  minded  never  to  let  him  goe.  For  us,  we  have 
the  same  untamed  Spiritts  and  unconstrayned  Course 
of  Life  as  ever,  neither  lett  nor  hindered  in  our  daylie 
Studdies,  though  we  dress  somewhat  braver,  and  see 
more  Companie.  Mother's  Head  was  a  little  turned, 
at  first,  by  the  Change  and  Enlargement  of  the 
Householde  .  .  .  the  Acquisition  of  Clerk  of  the 
Kitchen,  Surveyor  of  the  Dresser,  Yeoman  of  the 
Pastrie,  etc.,  but,  as  Father  laughinglie  tolde  her,  the 
Increase  of  her  Cares  soon  steddied  her  Witts,  for 
she  found  she  had  twenty  Unthrifts  to  look  after 
insteadeof  half-a-dozen.  And  the  same  with  himself. 
His  Responsibilities  are  soe  increast,  that  he  grutches 
at  everie  Hour  the  Court  steals  from  his  Family,  and 


SI1{  THOS.  MO'KE  135 

vows,  now  and  then,  he  will  leave  off  joking,  that  the 
King  may  the  sooner  wearie  of  him.  But  this  is  onlie 
in  Jest,  for  he  feels  it  is  a  Power  given  him  over 
lighter  Minds,  which  he  may  exert  to  usefull  and  high 
Purpose.  Onlie  it  keepeth  him  from  needing  Damocles 
his  Sword  ;  he  trusts  not  in  the  Favour  of  Princes 
nor  in  the  Voyce  of  the  People,  and  keeps  his  soul  as 
a  weaned  Child.  'Tis  much  for  us  now  to  get  an 
Hour's  Leisure  with  him,  and  makes  us  feel  what  our 
olde  Privileges  were  when  we  knew  'em  not.  Still, 
I'm  pleased  without  being  over  elated,  at  his  having 
risen  to  his  proper  Level. 

The  King  tooke  us  by  Surprise  this  Morning  : 
Mother  had  scarce  time  to  slip  on  her  Scarlett  Gown 
and  Coif,  ere  he  was  in  the  House.  His  Grace  was 
mighty  pleasant  to  all,  and,  at  going,  saluted  all 
round,  which  Bessy  took  humourously,  Daisy  im- 
moveablie,  Mercy  humblie,  I  distastefullie,  and  Mother 
delightedlie.  She  calls  him  a  fine  Man  ;  he  is  indeede 
big  enough,  and  like  to  become  too  big  ;  with  long 
slits  of  Eyes  that  gaze  freelie  on  all,  as  who  shoulde 
say,  "Who  dare  let  or  hinder  us?"  His  Brow 
betokens  Sense  and  Franknesse,  his  Eyebrows  are 
supercilious,  and  his  Cheeks  puffy.  A  rolling,  strad- 
dling Gait,  and  abrupt  Speech. 

T'other  Evening,  as  Father  and  I  were,  unwontedly, 
strolling  together  down  the  Lane,  there  accosts  us  a 
shabby  poor  Fellow,  with  something  unsettled  in  his 
Eye.  .  .  . 

"  Master,  Sir  Knight,  and  may  it  please  your  Judge- 
ship,  my  name  is  Patteson" 


136  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

"  Very  likely,"  says  Father,  "and  my  Name  is  More, 
but  what  is  that  to  the  Purpose  ? " 

"  And  that  is  more  to  the  Purpose,  you  mighte  have 
said,"  returned  the  other. 

"Why,  soe  I  mighte,"  says  Father,  "but  how 
shoulde  I  have  proved  it  ? " 

"You  who  are  a  Lawyer  shoulde  know  best  about 
that,"  rejoyned  the  poor  Knave ;  "  'tis  too  hard  for 
poor  Patteson" 

"  Well,  but  who  are  you  r  "  says  Father,  "  and  what 
do  you  want  of  me  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  mind  me  ?  "  says  Patteson ;  "  I  played 
Hold-your-tongue,  last  Christmasse  Revel  was  five 
Years,  and  they  called  me  a  smart  Chap  then,  but 
last  Martinmasse  I  fell  from  the  Church  Steeple,  and 
shook  my  Brain-pan,  I  think,  for  its  Contents  have 
seemed  addled  ever  since ;  soe  what  I  want  now  is  to 
be  made  a  Fool." 

"  Then  you  are  not  one  already  ?  "  says  Father. 

"  If  I  were,"  says  Patteson,  "  I  shoulde  not  have 
come  to  you." 

"Why,  Like  cleaves  to  Like,  you  know  they  say," 
says  Father. 

"  Aye,"  says  t'other,  "  but  I've  Reason  and  Feeling 
enow,  too,  to  know  you  are  no  Fool,  though  I  thoughte 
you  might  want  one.  Great  People  like  'em  at  their 
Tables,  I've  hearde  say,  though  I  am  sure  I  can't 
guesse  why,  for  it  makes  me  sad  to  see  Fools  laughed 
at ;  ne'erthelesse,  as  I  get  laughed  at  alreadie,  me- 
thinketh  I  may  as  well  get  paid  for  the  Job  if  I  can, 
being  unable,  now,  to  doe  a  Stroke  of  Work  in  hot 


.  MO<HE  137 

Weather.  And  I'm  the  onlie  Son  of  my  Mother,  and 
she  is  a  Widow.  But  perhaps  I'm  not  bad  enough." 

"  I  know  not  that,  poor  Knave,"  says  Father^ 
touched  with  quick  Pity,  "and,  for  those  that  laugh 
at  Fools,  my  Opinion,  Patteson^  is  that  they  are  the 
greater  Fools  who  laugh.  To  tell  you  the  Truth,  I 
had  had  noe  Mind  to  take  a  Fool  into  mine  Estab- 
lishment, having  alwaies  had  a  Fancy  to  be  prime 
Fooler  in  it  myselfe  ;  however,  you  incline  me  to 
change  my  Purpose,  for  as  I  said  anon,  Like  cleaves 
to  Like,  soe,  I'll  tell  you  what  we  will  doe — divide 
the  Businesse  and  goe  Halves — I  continuing  the  Fool- 
ing, and  thou  receiving  the  Salary  ;  that  is,  if  I  find, 
on  Inquiry,  thou  art  given  to  noe  Vice,  including  that 
of  Scurrillitie." 

"  May  it  like  your  Goodness,"  says  poor  Patteson^ 
"I've  been  the  Subject,  oft,  of  Scurrillitie,  and  affect 
it  too  little  to  offend  that  Way  myself.  I  ever  keep 
a  civil  Tongue  in  my  Head,  'specially  among  young 
Ladies." 

"  That  minds  me,"  says  Father^  "  of  a  Butler  who 
sayd  he  always  was  sober,  especially  when  he  only 
had  Water  to  drink.  Can  you  read  and  write  ?  " 

u  Well,  and  what  if  I  cannot  ?"  returns  Patteson^ 
u  there  ne'er  was  but  one,  I  ever  heard  of,  that  knew 
Letters,  never  having  learnt,  and  well  he  might,  for 
he  made  them  that  made  them." 

"Meg,  there  is  Sense  in  this  poor  Fellow,"  says 
Father,  "  we  will  have  him  Home  and  be  kind  to  him." 

And,  sure  enow,  we  have  done  so  and  been  so  ever 
since. 


138  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 


Tuesday,  2$th. 

A  GLANCE  at  the  anteceding  Pages  of  this  Libellus  me- 
sheweth  poor  Will  Roper  at  the  Season  his  Love-fitt 
for  me  was  at  its  Height.  He  troubled  me  with  it 
noe  longer,  nor  with  his  religious  Disquietations. 
Hard  Studdy  of  the  Law  hath  filled  his  Head  with 
other  Matters,  and  made  him  infinitely  more  rationall, 
and  by  Consequents,  more  agreeable.  'Twas  one  of 
those  Preferences  young  People  sometimes  manifest, 
themselves  know  neither  why  nor  wherefore,  and  are 
shamed,  afterwards,  to  be  reminded  of.  I'm  sure  I 
shall  ne'er  remind  him.  There  was  nothing  in  me 
to  fix  a  rational  or  passionate  Regard.  I  have  neither 
Bess's  Witt  nor  white  Teeth,  nor  Daisy's  dark  Eyes, 
nor  Mercy's  Dimple.  A  plain-favoured  Girl,  with 
changefulle  Spiritts, — that's  alle. 

26th, 

PATTESOIVS  latest  Jest  was  taking  Precedence  of 
Father  yesterday  with  the  Saying,  "  Give  place, 
Brother  ;  you  are  but  Jester  to  King  Harry,  and  I'm 
Jester  to  Sir  Thomas  More ;  I'll  leave  you  to  decide 
which  is  the  greater  Man  of  the  two." 

"  Why,  Gossip,"  cries  Father,  "  his  Grace  woulde 
make  two  of  me." 

"  Not  a  Bit  of  it,"  returns  Patteson,  "he's  big  enow 
for  two  such  as  you  are,  I  grant  ye,  but  the  King 
can't  make  two  of  you.  No  !  Lords  and  Commons 


SIl^THOS.  MO<HE  139 

may  make  a  King,  but  a  king  can't  make  a  Sir 
Thomas  More." 

"  Yes,  he  can,"  rejoyns  father,  "  he  can  make  me 
Lord  Chancellor,  and  then  he  will  make  me  more  than 
I  am  already  ;  ergo,  he  will  make  Sir  Thomas  more." 

"  But  what  I  mean  is,"  persists  the  Fool,  "  that  the 
King  can't  make  such  another  as  you  are,  any  more 
than  all  the  King's  Horses  and  all  the  King's  Men 
can  put  Humpty-dumpty  together  again,  which  is  an 
ancient  Riddle,  and  full  of  Marrow.  And  soe  he'll 
find,  if  ever  he  lifts  thy  Head  off  from  thy  Shoulders, 
which  GOD  forbid  !  " 

Father  delighteth  in  sparring  with  Patteson  far  more 
than  in  jesting  with  the  King,  whom  he  alwaies 
looks  on  as  a  Lion  that  may,  any  Minute,  fall  on  him 
and  rend  him.  Whereas,  with  t'other,  he  ungirds 
his  Mind.  Their  Banter  commonly  exceeds  not 
Pleasantrie,  but  Patteson  is  ne'er  without  an  Answer; 
and  although,  maybe,  each  amuses  himselfe  now  and 
then  with  thinking,  "  I'll  put  him  up  with  such  a 
Question,"  yet,  once  begun,  the  Skein  runs  off  the 
Reel  without  a  Knot,  and  shows  the  excellent  Nature 
of  both,  soe  free  are  they  alike  from  Malice  and 
Over-license.  Sometimes  theire  Cuts  are  neater  than 
common  Listeners  apprehend.  I've  scene  Rupert  and 
Will,  in  fencing,  make  theire  Swords  flash  in  the  Sun 
at  every  Parry  and  Thrust ;  agayn,  owing  to  some 
Change  in  mine  owne  Position,  or  the  decline  of  the 
Sun,  the  Scintillations  have  escaped  me,  though  I've 
known  their  Rays  must  have  been  emitted  in  some 
Quarter  alle  the  same. 


140  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

Patteson,  with  one  of  Argus's  cast  Feathers  in 
his  Hand,  is  at  this  Moment  beneath  my  Lattice, 
astride  on  a  Stone  Balustrade  ;  while  Bessy,  whom 
he  much  affects,  is  sitting  on  the  Steps,  feeding 
her  Peacocks.  Sayth  Patteson,  "  Canst  tell  me, 
Mistress,  why  Peacocks  have  soe  manie  Eyes  in 
theire  Tails,  and  yet  can  onlie  see  with  two  in 
theire  Heads  ? " 

"  Because  those  two  make  them  soe  vain  alreadie, 
Fool,"  says  Bess,  "  that  were  they  always  beholding 
theire  owne  Glory,  they  woulde  be  intolerable." 

"  And  besides  that,"  says  Patteson,  "  the  less  we  see 
or  heare,  either,  of  what  passes  behind  our  Backs,  the 
better  for  us,  since  Knaves  will  make  Mouths  at  us 
then,  for  as  glorious  as  we  may  be.  Canst  tell  me, 
Mistress,  why  the  Peacock  was  the  last  Bird  that 
went  into  the  Ark?" 

"  First  tell  me,  Fool,"  returns  Bessy  "  how  thou 
knowest  that  it  was  soe  ?  " 

"  Nay,  a  Fool  may  ask  a  Question  would  puzzle  a 
Wiseard  to  answer,"  rejoyns  Patteson ;  "I  mighte 
ask  you,  for  example,  where  they  got  theire  fresh 
Kitchen-stuff  in  the  Ark,  or  whether  the  Birds  ate 
other  than  Grains,  or  the  wild  Beasts  other  than 
Flesh.  It  needs  must  have  been  a  Granary." 

"  We  ne'er  show  ourselves  such  Fools,"  says  Bess, 
"as  in  seeking  to  know  more  than  is  written.  They 
had  enough,  if  none  to  spare,  and  we  scarce  can  tell 
how  little  is  enough  for  bare  Sustenance  in  a  State  of 
perfect  Inaction.  If  the  Creatures  were  kept  low, 
they  were  all  the  less  fierce." 


SI^THOS.  MOT(E  141 

"  Well  answered,  Mistress,"  says  Patteson,  "  but 
tell  me,  why  do  you  wear  two  Crosses  ?  " 

"Nay,  Fool,"  returns  Bess,  "I  wear  but  one." 

"  Oh,  but  I  say  you  wear  two,"  says  Patteson,  "  one 
at  your  Girdle,  and  one  that  nobody  sees.  We  alle 
wear  the  unseen  one,  you  know.  Some  have  theirs 
of  Gold,  alle  carven  and  shaped,  soe  as  you  hardlie 
tell  it  for  a  Cross  .  .  .  like  my  Lord  Cardinall,  for 
Instance  .  .  .  but  it  is  one,  for  alle  that.  And  others, 
of  Iron,  that  eateth  into  their  Hearts  .  .  .  methinketh 
Master  'Rofers  must  be  one  of  'em.  For  me,  I'm 
content  with  one  of  Wood,  like  that  our  deare  LORD 
bore  ;  what  was  goode  enow  for  him  is  goode  enow 
for  me,  and  I've  noe  Temptation  to  shew  it,  as  it 
isn't  fine,  nor  yet  to  chafe  at  it  for  being  rougher  than 
my  Neighbour's,  nor  yet  to  make  myself  a  second 
because  it'  is  not  hard  enow.  Doe  you  take  me, 
Mistress?" 

"  I  take  you  for  what  you  are,"  says  Bess,  "  a  poor 
Fool." 

"  Nay,  Niece,"  says  Patteson,  "  my  Brother  your 
Father  hath  made  me  rich." 

"  I  mean,"  says  Bess,  "  you  have  more  Wisdom 
than  Witt,  and  a  real  Fool  has  neither,  therefore  you 
are  only  a  make-believe  Fool." 

"  Well,  there  are  many  make-believe  Sages,"  says 
Patteson ;  "  for  mine  owne  Part,  I  never  aim  to  be 
thoughte  a  Hiccius  Doccius" 

"  A  hie  est  doctus.  Fool,  you  mean,"  interrupts  Bess. 

"  Perhaps  I  do,"  rejoins  Patteson^  "  since  other 
Folks  soe  oft  know  better  what  we  mean  than  we 


142  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

know  ourselves.  Alle  I  woulde  say  is,  I  ne'er  set  up 
for  a  Conjuror.  One  can  see  as  far  into  a  Millstone 
as  other  People,  without  being  that.  For  Example, 
when  a  Man  is  overta'en  with  Qualms  of  Conscience 
for  having  married  his  Brother's  Widow,  when  she  is 
noe  longer  soe  young  and  fair  as  she  was  a  Score  of 
Years  ago,  we  know  what  that's  a  Sign  of.  And 
when  an  Ipswich  Butcher's  Son  takes  on  him  the 
State  of  my  Lord  Pope,  we  know  what  that's  a  Sign 
of.  Nay,  if  a  young  Gentlewoman  become  dainty 
at  her  Sizes,  and  sluttish  in  her  Apparel,  we  ...  as 
I  live,  here  comes  Giles  Heron,  with  a  Fish  in's 
Mouth." 

Poor  Bess  involuntarilie  turned  her  Head  quicklie 
towards  the  Watergate  ;  on  which,  Patteson,  laughing 
as  he  lay  on  his  Back,  points  upward  with  his  Pea- 
cock's Feather,  and  cries,  "  Overhead,  Mistress  !  see, 
there  he  goes.  Sure,  you  lookt  not  to  see  Master 
Heron  making  towards  us  between  the  Posts  and 
Flower-pots,  eating  a  dried  Ling  ? "  laughing  as 
wildly  as  though  he  were  verily  a  Natural. 

Bess,  without  a  Word,  shook  the  Crumbs  from  her 
Lap,  and  was  turning  into  the  House,  when  he  with- 
holds her  a  Minute  in  a  perfectly  altered  Fashion, 
saying,  <c  There  be  some  Works,  Mistress,  our  Con- 
fessors tell  us  be  Works  of  Supererogation  ...  is 
not  that  the  Word  ?  I  learn  a  long  one  now  and 
then  .  .  .  such  as  be  setting  Food  before  a  full  Man, 
or  singing  to  a  deaf  one,  or  buying  for  one's  Pigs  a 
Silver  Trough,  or  for  the  Matter  of  that,  casting 
Pearls  before  a  Dunghill  Cock,  or  fishing  for  a  Heron, 


SI^THOS.  MOT(E  143 

which  is  well  able  to  fish  for  itself,  and  is  an  ill- 
natured  Bird  after  all,  that  pecks  the  Hand  of  his 
Mistress,  and,  for  all  her  Kindness  to  him,  will  not 
think  of  Bessy  More." 

How  apt  alle   are   to   abuse   unlimited    License  ! 
Yet  'twas  good  Counsel. 


1525,  July  2. 

SOE  my  Fate  is  settled.  Who  knoweth  at  Sunrise 
what  will  chance  before  Sunsett  ?  No  ;  the  Greeks 
and  Romans  mighte  speake  of  Chance  and  of  Fate, 
but  we  must  not.  Ityth's  Hap  was  to  light  on  the 
Field  of  Boaz  :  but  what  she  thought  casual,  the 
LORD  had  contrived. 

Firste,  he  gives  me  the  Marmot.  Then,  the  Mar- 
mot dies.  Then,  I,  having  kept  the  Creature  soe 
long,  and  being  naturallie  tender,  must  cry  a  little 
over  it.  Then  Will  must  come  in  and  find  me  dry- 
ing mine  Eyes.  Then  he  must,  most  unreasonablie, 
suppose  that  I  could  not  have  loved  the  poor  Animal 
for  its  owne  Sake  soe  much  as  for  his ;  and,  there- 
upon, falle  a  love-making  in  such  downrighte 
Earneste,  that  I,  being  alreadie  somewhat  upset,  and 
knowing  'twoulde  please  Father  .  .  .  and  hating  to 
be  perverse,  .  .  .  and  thinking  much  better  of  Will 
since  he  hath  studdied  soe  hard,  and  given  soe  largelie 
to  the  Poor,  and  left  off  broaching  his  heteroclite 
Opinions  ...  I  say,  I  supposed  it  must  be  soe,  some 
Time  or  another,  soe  'twas  noe  Use  hanging  back  for 


144  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

ever  and  ever,  soe  now  there's  an  End,  and  I  pray 
GOD  give  us  a  quiet  Life. 

Noe  one  woulde  suppose  me  reckoning  on  a  quiet 
Life  if  they  knew  how  I've  cried  alle  this  Forenoon, 
ever  since  I  got  quit  of  Will,  by  Father's  carrying 
him  off  to  Westminster.  He'll  tell  Father,  I  know,  as 
they  goe  along  in  the  Barge,  or  else  coming  back, 
which  will  be  soone  now,  though  I've  ta'en  no  Heed 
of  the  Hour.  I  wish  'twere  cold  Weather,  and  that 
I  had  a  sore  Throat,  or  stiff  Neck,  or  somewhat  that 
might  reasonablie  send  me  a-bed,  and  keep  me  there 
till  to-morrow  Morning.  But  I'm  quite  well,  and 
'tis  the  Dog-days,  and  Cook  is  thumping  the  Rolling- 
pin  on  the  Dresser,  and  Dinner  is  being  served,  and 
here  comes  Father. 


1528,  Sept. 

FATHER  hath  had  some  Words  with  the  Cardinal!. 
'Twas  touching  the  Draught  of  some  forayn  Treaty 
which  the  Cardinall  offered  for  his  Criticism,  or 
rather,  for  his  Commendation,  which  Father  could 
not  give.  This  nettled  his  Grace,  who  exclaimed, — 
"  By  the  Mass,  thou  art  the  veriest  Fool  of  all  the 
Council."  Father,  smiling,  rejoined,  "GoD  be 
thanked,  that  the  King  our  Master  hath  but  one  Fool 
therein." 

The  Cardinall  may  rage,  but  he  can't  rob  him  of 
the  royal  Favour.  The  King  was  here  yesterday,  and 
walked  for  an  Hour  or  soe  about  the  Garden,  with 
his  Arm  round  Father's  Neck.  Will  coulde  not  help 


SI^THOS.  MO<%E  145 

felicitating  Father  upon  it  afterwards ;  to  which 
Father  made  Answer,  "I  thank  GOD  I  find  his  Grace 
my  very  good  Lord  indeed,  and  I  believe  he  doth  as 
singularly  favour  me  as  any  Subject  within  this 
Realm.  Howbeit,  son  fR^J>er^  I  may  tell  thee  between 
ourselves,  I  feel  no  Cause  to  be  proud  thereof,  for  if 
mv  Head  would  win  him  a  Castle  in  France*  it 

j  * 

shoulde  not  fail  to  fly  off." 

— Father  is  graver  than  he  used  to  be.  No 
Wonder.  He  hath  much  on  his  Mind  ;  the  Calls 
on  his  Time  and  Thoughts  are  beyond  Belief;  but 
GOD  is  very  good  to  him.  His  Favour  at  home  and 
abroad  is  immense  :  he  hath  good  Health,  soe  have 
we  alle  ;  and  his  Family  are  established  to  his  Mind, 
and  settled  alle  about  him,  still  under  the  same  foster- 
ing Roof.  Considering  that  I  am  the  most  ordinarie 
of  his  Daughters,  'tis  singular  I  should  have  secured 
the  best  Husband.  Daisy  lives  peaceablie  with  'Rupert 
Allington,  and  is  as  indifferent,  me  seemeth,  to  him  as 
to  alle  the  World  beside.  He,  on  his  Part,  loves  her 
and  theire  Children  with  Devotion,  and  woulde  pass 
half  his  Time  in  the  Nurserie.  Dancey  always  had  a 
hot  Temper,  and  now  and  then  plagues  Bess;  but  she 
lets  noe  one  know  it  but  me.  Sometimes  she  comes 
into  my  Chamber  and  cries  a  little,  but  the  next  kind 
Word  brightens  her  up,  and  I  verilie  believe  her 
Pleasures  far  exceed  her  Payns.  Giles  Heron  lost  her 
through  his  own  Fault,  and  might  have  regained  her 
good  Opinion  after  all,  had  he  taken  half  the  Pains 
for  her  Sake  he  now  takes  for  her  younger  Sister  :  I 
cannot  think  how  Cecy  can  favour  him  ;  yet  I  suspect 
K 


146  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

he  will  win  her,  sooner  or  later.  As  to  mine  own 
deare  Will^  'tis  the  kindest,  purest  Nature,  the  finest 
Soul,  the  .  .  .  and  yet  how  I  was  senselesse  enow 
once  to  undervalue  him  ! 

Yes,  I  am  a  happy  Wife  ;  a  happy  Daughter ;  a 
happy  Mother.  When  my  little  Bill  streaked  dear 
Father's  Face  just  now,  and  murmured  "  Pretty  !  "  he 
burst  out  a-laughing,  and  cried, — 

"  You  are  like  the  young  Cyrus,  who  exclaimed, — 
'  Oh  !  Mother,  how  pretty  is  my  Grandfather  ! ' 
And  yet,  according  to  Xenophon,  the  old  Gentleman 
was  soe  rouged  and  made  up,  as  that  none  but  a 
Childe  woulde  have  admired  him  !  " 

"That's  not  the  Case,"  I  observed,  "with  Bill's 
Grandfather." 

"  He's  a  More  all  over,"  says  Father,  fondly. 
"Make  a  Pun,  Meg,  if  thou  canst,  about  Amor,  Amore, 
or  Amores.  'Twill  onlie  be  the  thousand  and  first  on 
our  Name.  Here,  little  Knave,  see  these  Cherries : 
tell  me  who  thou  art,  and  thou  shalt  have  one.  ' More! 
More  r  I  knew  it,  sweet  Villain.  Take  them  all." 

I  oft  sitt  for  an  Hour  or  more,  watching  Hans 
Holbein  at  his  Brush.  He  hath  a  rare  Gift  of  limning ; 
and  has,  besides,  the  Advantage  of  deare  Erasmus 
his  Recommendation,  for  whom  he  hath  alreddie 
painted  our  Likenesses,  but  I  think  he  has  made  us 
very  ugly.  His  Portraiture  of  my  Grandfather  is 
marvellous :  ne'erthelesse,  I  look  in  vayn  for  the 
Spiritualitie  which  ourLucchese  Friend, Antonio  Bonvisi, 
tells  us  is  to  be  found  in  the  Productions  of  the 
Italian  Schools. 


SI^THOS.  MO<RE  147 

Holbein  loves  to  paint  with  the  Lighte  coming  in 
upon  his  Work  from  above.  He  says  a  Lighte  from 
above  puts  Objects  in  theire  proper  Lighte,  and  shews 
theire  just  Proportions ;  a  Lighte  from  beneath 
reverses  alle  the  naturall  Shadows.  Surelie,  this  hath 
some  Truth  if  we  spirituallize  it. 


June  2nd. 

RUPERT'S  Cousin,  Rosamond  Allington,  is  our  Guest. 
She  is  as  beautiful  as  ...  not  as  an  Angel,  for  she 
lacks  the  Look  of  Goodness,  but  very  beautiful  indeed. 
She  cometh  hither  from  Hever  Castle,  her  Account  of 
the  Affairs  whereof  I  like  not.  Mistress  Anne  is  not 
there  at  present ;  indeed,  she  is  not  always  hanging 
about  Court,  and followeth  somewhat  too  literallie  the 
scriptural  Injunction  to  Solomon  s  Spouse — to  forget 
her  Father's  House.  The  King  likes  well  enow  to  be 
compared  with  Solomon,  but  Mistress  Anne  is  not  his 
Spouse  yet,  nor  ever  will  be,  I  hope.  Flattery  and 
Frenchified  Habitts  have  spoilt  her,  I  trow. 

Rosamond  says  there  is  not  a  good  Chamber  in  the 
Castle  ;  even  the  Ballroom,  which  is  on  the  upper 
Floor  of  alle,  being  narrow  and  low.  On  a  rainy 
Day,  long  ago,  she  and  Mistress  Anne  were  playing 
at  Shuttlecock  therein,  when  'Rosamond's  Foot  tripped 
at  some  Unevennesse  in  the  Floor,  and  Mistress  Anne^ 
with  a  Laugh,  cried  out,  "  Mind  you  goe  not  down 
into  the  Dungeon" — then  pulled  up  a  Trap-door  in 
the  Ball-room  Floor,  by  an  iron  Ring,  and  made 
Rosamond  look  down  into  an  unknown  Depth  j  all  in 


148  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

the  blacknesse  of  Darkness.  'Tis  an  awfulle  Thing 
to  have  onlie  a  Step  from  a  Ball-room  to  a  Dungeon  ! 
I'm  glad  we  live  in  a  modern  House  ;  we  have  noe 
such  fearsome  Sights  here. 

Sept.  26. 
How  many,  many  Tears  have  I  shed  !  Poor  imprudent 

mm 

To  think  of  his  Escape  from  the  Cardinal's  Fangs, 
and  yet  that  he  will  probablie  repeat  the  Offence  ! 
This  Morning  Father  and  he  had  a  long,  and,  I  fear 
me,  fruitless  Debate  in  the  Garden  ;  on  returning 
from  which,  Father  took  me  aside  and  sayd, — 

"Meg,  I  have  borne  a  long  Time  with  thine 
Husband ;  I  have  reasoned  and  argued  with  him,  and 
still  given  him  my  poor,  fatherly  Counsel ;  but  I  per- 
ceive none  of  alle  this  can  call  him  Home  agayn. 
And  therefore,  Meg,  I  will  noe  longer  dispute  with 
him."  ..."  Oh,  Father  !  "  .  .  .  "  Nor  yet  will  I  give 
him  over ;  but  I  will  set  another  Way  to  work,  and 
get  me  to  GOD  and  pray  for  him." 

And  have  not  I  done  so  alreadie  ? 


2jth. 

I  FEARE  me  they  parted  unfriendlie;  I  hearde 
Father  say,  "  Thus  much  I  have  a  Right  to  bind  thee 
to,  that  thou  indoctrinate  not  her  in  thine  owne 
Heresies.  Thou  shalt  not  imperill  the  Salvation  of 
my  Child." 

Since  this  there  has  beene  an  irresistible  Gloom  on 


SIl^THOS.  MO<%E  149 

our  Spiritts,  a  Cloud  between  my  Husband's  Soul  and 
mine,  without  a  Word  spoken.  I  pray,  but  my 
Prayers  seem  dead. 


Thursday,  2%th. 

LAST  Night,  after  seeking  unto  this  Saint  and  that, 
methought,  "•  Why  not  applie  unto  the  Fountain 
Head  ?  Maybe  these  holie  Spiritts  may  have  Limita- 
tions sett  to  the  Power  of  theire  Intercessions — at 
anie  Rate,  the  Ears  of  Mary-mother  are  open  to  alle." 

Soe  I  beganne,  "  Eia  mater^fons  amoris"   .   .  . 

Then  methoughte,  "  But  I  am  onlie  asking  her  to 
intercede — I'll  mount  a  Step  higher  still."  .  .  . 

Then  I  turned  to  the  greate  Intercessor  of  alle. 
But  methought,  "  Still  he  intercedes  with  another, 
although  the  same.  And  his  owne  Saying  was, 
c  In  that  Day  ye  shall  ask  me  nothing.  Whatsoever 
ye  shall  ask  in  my  Name,  he  will  give  it  you.' "  Soe 
I  did. 

I  fancy  I  fell  asleep  with  the  Tears  on  my  Cheek. 
Will  had  not  come  up  Stairs.  Then  came  a  heavie, 
heavie  Sleep,  not  such  as  giveth  Rest ;  and  a  dark, 
wild  Dream.  Methought  I  was  tired  of  waiting  for 
Willy  and  became  alarmed.  The  Night  seemed  a 
Month  long,  and  at  last  I  grew  soe  weary  of  it,  that  I 
arose,  put  on  some  Clothing,  and  went  in  search  of 
him  whom  my  Soul  loveth.  Soon  I  founde  him, 
sitting  in  a  Muse;  and  said,  "  Will,  deare  Will?" 
but  he  hearde  me  not ;  and,  going  up  to  touch  him, 


150  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

I  was  amazed  to  be  broughte  short  up  or  ever  I 
reached  him,  by  Something  invisible  betwixt  us,  hard 
and  cleare,  and  colde,  ...  in  short,  a  Wall  of  Ice  ! 
Soe  it  seemed,  in  my  strange  Dreame.  I  pushed  at 
it,  but  could  not  move  it ;  called  to  him,  but  coulde 
not  make  him  hear  :  and  all  the  While  my  Breath,  I 
suppose,  raised  a  Vapour  on  the  glassy  Substance,  that 
grew  thicker  and  thicker,  soe  as  slowlie  to  hide  him 
from  me.  I  coulde  discerne  his  Head  and  Shoulders, 
but  not  see  down  to  his  Heart.  Then  I  shut  mine 
Eyes  in  despair,  and  when  I  opened  'em,  he  was 
hidden  altogether. 

Then  I  prayed.  I  put  my  hot  Brow  agaynst  the 
Ice,  and  I  kept  a  weeping  hot  Tears,  and  the  warm 
Breath  of  Prayer  kept  issuing  from  my  Lips ;  and 
still  I  was  persisting,  when,  or  ever  I  knew  how,  the 
Ice  beganne  to  melt  !  I  felt  it  giving  Way  !  and, 
looking  up,  coulde  in  joyfulle  Surprize  just  discerne 
the  Lineaments  of  a  Figure  close  at  t'other  Side ;  the 
Face  turned  away,  but  yet  in  the  Guise  of  listen- 
ing. And,  Images  being  apt  to  seem  magnified  and 
distorted  through  Vapours,  methought  'twas  alto- 
gether bigger  than  Will^  yet  himself,  nothingthelesse ; 
and,  the  Barrier  between  us  having  sunk  away  to 
Breast-height,  I  layd  mine  Hand  on's  Shoulder,  and 
he  turned  his  Head,  smiling,  though  in  Silence  ;  and 
.  .  .  oh,  Heaven  !  'twas  not  Will,  but . 

What  coulde  I  doe,  even  in  my  Dreame,  but  fall 
at  his  Feet  ?  What  coulde  I  doe,  waking,  but  the 
same  ?  'Twas  Grey  of  Morn  ;  I  was  feverish  and 
unrefreshed,  but  I  wanted  noe  more  lying  a-bed. 


SI^THOS.  MOT(E  151 

Will  had  arisen  and  gone  forthe ;  and  I,  as  quicldie  as 
I  coulde  make  myself  readie,  sped  after  him. 

I  know  not  what  I  expected,  nor  what  I  meant  to 
say.  The  Moment  I  opened  the  Door  of  his  Closett, 
I  stopt  short.  There  he  stoode,  in  the  Centre  of  the 
Chamber  ;  his  Hand  resting  flat  on  an  open  Book, 
his  Head  raised  somewhat  up,  his  Eyes  fixed  on 
Something  or  some  One,  as  though  in  speaking 
Communion  with  'em  ;  his  whole  Visage  lightened 
up  and  glorifide  with  an  unspeakable  Calm  and 
Grandeur  that  seemed  to  transfigure  him  before  me  ; 
and,  when  he  hearde  my  Step,  he  turned  about,  and 
'steade  of  histing  me  away,  helde  out  his  Arms.  .  .  . 
We  parted  without  neede  to  utter  a  Word. 


June,  1530. 

EVENTS  have  followed  too  quick  and  thick  for  me  to 
note  'em.  Firste,  Fathers  Embassade  to  Cambray^ 
which  I  shoulde  have  grieved  at  more  on  our  owne 
Accounts,  had  it  not  broken  off  alle  further  Collision 
with  Will.  Thoroughlie  homesick,  while  abroad, 
poor  Father  was ;  then,  on  his  Return,  he  noe  sooner 
sett  his  Foot  a-land,  than  the  King  summoned  him 
to  Woodstock.  'Twas  a  Couple  o'  Nights  after  he 
left  us,  that  Will  and  I  were  roused  by  Pattesorfs 
shouting  beneath  our  Window,  "  Fire,  Fire,  quoth 
Jeremiah  ! "  and  the  House  was  a-fire,  sure  enow. 
Create  Part  of  the  Men's  Quarter,  together  with  alle 
the  Out-houses  and  Barns,  consumed  without 
Remedie,  and  alle  through  the  Carelessnesse  of  John 


152  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

Holt.  Howbeit  noe  Lives  were  lost,  nor  any  one 
much  hurt  ;  and  we  thankfullie  obeyed  deare  Father's 
Behest,  soe  soone  as  we  received  the  same,  that  we 
woulde  get  jus  to  Church,  and  there,  upon  our  Knees, 
return  humble  and  harty  Thanks  to  ALMIGHTY  GOD 
for  our  late  Deliverance  from  a  fearfulle  Death. 
Alsoe,  at  Father's  Desire,  we  made  up  to  the  poor 
People  on  our  Premises  theire  various  Losses,  which 
he  bade  us  doe,  even  if  it  left  him  without  soe  much 
as  a  Spoon. 

But  then  came  an  equallie  unlookt-for,  and  more 
appalling  Event  :  the  Fall  of  my  Lord  Cardinal^ 
whereby  my  Father  was  shortlie  raised  to  the  highest 
Pinnacle  of  professional  Greatnesse  ;  being  made  Lord 
Chancellor^  to  the  Content,  in  some  Sort,  of  Wolsey 
himself,  who  sayd  he  was  the  onlie  Man  fit  to  be  his 
Successor. 

The  unheard-of  Splendour  of  his  Installation 
dazzled  the  Vulgar  ;  while  the  Wisdom  that  marked 
the  admirable  Discharge  of  his  daylie  Duties,  won  the 
Respect  of  alle  thinking  Men,  but  surprized  none 
who  alreadie  knew  Father.  On  the  Day  succeeding 
his  being  sworn  in,  Patteson  marched  hither,  and 
thither,  bearing  a  huge  Placard,  inscribed,  "  Partner- 
ship Dissolved  ;"  and  apparelled  himself  in  an  old  Suit 
on  which  he  had  bestowed  a  Coating  of  black  Paint, 
Weepers  of  white  Paper  ;  assigning  for't  that  "  his 
Brother  was  dead."  "  For  now,"  quoth  he,  "  that 
they've  made  him  Lord  Chancellor,  we  shall  ne'er  see 
Sir  Thomas  more." 

Now,  although  the  poor  Cardinall  was  commonlie 


SI^THOS.  MO1{E  153 

helde  to  shew  much  Judgment  in  his  Decisions, 
owing  to  the  naturall  Soundness  of  his  Understanding, 
yet,  being  noe  Lawyer,  Abuses  had  multiplied  during 
his  Chancellorship,  more  especiallie  in  the  Way  of 
enormous  Fees  and  Gratuities.  Father,  not  content 
with  shunning  base  Lucre  in  his  proper  Person,  will 
not  let  anie  one  under  him,  to  his  Knowledge,  touch 
a  Bribe  ;  whereat  Dancey,  after  his  funny  Fashion, 
complains,  saying, — 

"The  Fingers  of  my  Lord  Cardinal? s  veriest  Door- 
keepers were  tipt  with  Gold,  but  I,  since  I  married 
your  Daughter,  have  got  noe  Pickings  ;  which  in 
your  Case  may  be  commendable,  but  in  mine  is 
nothing  profitable." 

Father,  laughing,  makes  Answer, — 

"  Your  Case  is  hard,  Son  Dancey,  but  I  can  onlie 
say  for  your  Comfort,  that,  soe  far  as  Honesty  and 
Justice  are  concerned,  if  mine  owne  Father,  whom  I 
reverence  dearly,  stoode  before  me  on  the  one  Hand, 
and  the  Devil,  whom  I  hate  extremely,  on  the  other, 
yet,  the  Cause  of  the  latter  being  just,  I  shoulde  give 
the  Devil  his  Due." 

Giles  Heron  hath  found  this  to  his  Cost.  Presuming 
on  his  near  Connexion  with  my  Father,  he  refused  an 
equitable  Accommodation  of  a  Suit,  which,  thereon, 
coming  into  Court,  Father's  Decision  was  given  flat 
agaynst  him. 

His  Decision  agaynst  Mother  was  equallie  impartiall, 

and  had  Something  comique  in  it.     Thus  it  befelle. 

— A    beggar-woman's   little  Dog,  which    had  beene 

stolen  from  her,  was  offered  my  Mother  for  Sale,  and 


154  rHE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

she  bought  it  for  a  Jewel  of  no  greate  Value.  After 
a  Week  or  soe,  the  Owner  finds  where  her  dog  is, 
and  cometh  to  make  Complaynt  of  the  Theft  to  Father, 
then  sitting  in  his  Hall.  Sayth  Father ,  "  Let's  have  a 
faire  Hearing  in  open  Court  ;  thou,  Mistress,  stand 
there  where  you  be,  to  have  impartial  Justice  ;  and 
thou,  Dame  Alice,  come  up  hither,  because  thou  art 
of  the  higher  degree.  Now  then,  call  each  of  you 
the  Puppy,  and  see  which  he  will  follow."  Soe  Sweet- 
heart, in  spite  of  Mother,  springs  off  to  the  old  Beggar- 
woman,  who,  unable  to  keep  from  laughing,  and  yet 
moved  at  Mother's  Losse,  sayth, — 

"  Tell  'ee  what,  Mistress  .  .  .  thee  shalt  have  'un 
for  a  Groat." 

"  Nay,"  sayth  Mother,  "  I  won't  mind  giving  thee 
a  Piece  of  Gold  ;  "  soe  the  Bargain  was  satisfactorily 
concluded. 

Father's  Despatch  of  Businesse  is  such,  that,  one 
Morning  before  the  End  of  Term,  he  was  tolde  there 
was  noe  other  Cause  nor  Petition  to  be  sett  before 
him  ;  the  which,  being  a  Case  unparalleled,  he  desired 
mighte  be  formally  recorded. 

He  ne'er  commences  Businesse  in  his  owne  Court 
without  first  stepping  into  the  Court  of  King's  Bench, 
and  there  kneeling  down  to  receive  my  Grandfather's 
Blessing.  Will  sayth  'tis  worth  a  World  to  see  the 
Unction  with  which  the  deare  old  Man  bestows  it  on 
him. 

In  Rogation-week,  following  the  Rood  as  usuall 
round  the  Parish,  Heron  counselled  him  to  go  a  Horse- 
back for  the  greater  Seemlinesse,  but  he  made  Answer 


SI^THOS.  MO<%E  155 

that  'twoulde  be  unseemlie  indeede  for  the  Servant  to 
ride  after  his  Master  going  afoot. 

His  Grace  of  Norfolk^  coming  yesterday  to  dine 
with  him,  finds  him  in  the  Church-choir,  singing, 
with  a  Surplice  on. 

"  What  ? "  cries  the  Duke,  as  they  walk  Home 
together,  "  my  Lord  Chancellor  playing  the  Parish- 
clerk  ?  Sure,  you  dishonour  the  King  and  his  Office." 

"  Nay,"  says  Father ,  smiling,  "  your  Grace  must 
not  deem  that  the  King,  your  Master  and  mine,  will 
be  offended  at  my  honouring  his  Master." 

Sure,  'tis  pleasant  to  heare  Father  taking  the  upper 
Hand  of  these  great  Folks  :  and  to  have  'em  coming 
and  going,  and  waiting  his  Pleasure,  because  he  is  the 
Man  whom  the  King  delighteth  to  honour. 

True,  indeed,  with  Wolsey  'twas  once  the  same  ; 
but  Father  neede  not  feare  the  same  Ruin  ;  because 
he  hath  HIM  for  his  Friend,  whom  Wolsey  said  woulde 
not  have  forsaken  him  had  he  served  HIM  as  he  served 
his  earthly  Master.  'Twas  a  misproud  Priest  ;  and 
there's  the  Truth  on't.  And  Father  is  not  misproud  ; 
and  I  don't  believe  we  are  ;  though  proud  of  him  we 
cannot  fail  to  be. 

And  I  know  not  why  we  may  not  be  pleased  with 
Prosperitie,  as  well  as  patient  under  Adversitie  ;  as  long 
as  we  say,  "  Thou,  LORD,  hast  made  our  Hill  soe 
strong."  'Tis  more  difficult  to  bear  with  Comelinesse, 
doubtlesse  ;  and  envious  Folks  there  will  be ;  and  we 
know  alle  Things  have  an  End,  and  everie  Sweet 
hath  its  Sour,  and  everie  Fountain  its  Fall ;  but  .  .  . 
'tis  very  pleasant  for  all  that. 


16  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 


Tuesday,  ^Ist,  1532. 

WHO  coulde  have  thoughte  that  those  ripe  Grapes 
whereof  dear  Gaffer  ate  so  plentifullie,  should  have 
ended  his  Dayes  ?  This  Event  hath  filled  the  House 
with  Mourning.  He  had  us  all  about  his  Bed  to 
receive  his  Blessing;  and  'twas  piteous  to  see  Father 
fall  upon  his  Face,  as  Joseph  on  the  Face  of  Jacob,  and 
weep  upon  him  and  kiss  him.  Like  Jacob,my  Grand- 
sire  lived  to  see  his  duteous  Son  attain  to  the  Height 

O 

of  earthlie  Glory,  his  Heart  unspoyledand  untouched. 


THE  Days  of  Mourning  for  my  Grandsire  are  at  an 
end  ;  yet  Father  still  goeth  heavilie.  This  Forenoon, 
looking  forthe  of  my  Lattice,  I  saw  him  walking 
along  the  River  Side,  his  Arm  cast  about  Will's  Neck  ; 
and  'twas  a  dearer  Sight  to  my  Soul  than  to  sec  the 
King  walking  there  with  his  Arm  around  Father's 
Neck.  They  seemed  in  such  earnest  Converse,  that 
I  was  avised  to  ask  Will,  afterwards,  what  they  had 
been  saying.  He  told  me  that,  after  much  friendly 
Chat  together  on  this  and  that,  Father  fell  into  a 
Muse,  and  presently,  fetching  a  deep  Sigh,  says,  — 

"  Would  to  GOD,  Son  Roper,  on  Condition  three 
Things  were  well  established  in  Christendom,  I  were 
put  into  a  Sack,  and  cast  presently  into  the  Thames.'11 
Will  sayth,  — 

"  What  three  soe  great  Things  can  they  be,  Father, 
as  to  move  vou  to  such  a  Wish  ?  " 


SI^THOS.  MOI^E  157 

"  In  Faith,  Wi//,"  answers  he,  "  they  be  these. — 
First,  that  whereas  the  most  Part  of  Christian  Princes 
be  at  War,  they  were  at  Universal  Peace.  Next, 
that  whereas  the  Church  of  CHRIST  is  at  present  sore 
afflicted  with  divers  Errors  and  Heresies,  it  were  well 
settled  in  a  godly  Uniformity.  Last,  that  this 
Matter  of  the  King's  Marriage  were,  to  the  Glory  of 
GOD,  and  the  Quietness  of  alle  Parties,  brought  to  a 
good  Conclusion." 

Indeed,  this  last  Matter  preys  on  my  Father's  Soul. 
He  hath  even  knelt  to  the  King,  to  refrain  from 
exacting  Compliance  with  his  Grace's  Will  concern- 
ing it ;  movingly  reminding  him,  even  with  Tears, 
of  his  Grace's  own  Words  to  him  on  delivering  the 
Great  Seal,  "  First  look  unto  GOD,  and,  after  GOD, 
unto  me."  But  the  King  is  heady  in  this  Matter  ; 
stubborn  as  a  Mule  or  wild  Ass's  Colt,  whose 
Mouths  must  be  held  with  Bit  and  Bridle  if  they  be 
to  be  governed  at  alle  ;  and  the  King  hath  taken  the 
Bit  between  his  Teeth,  and  there  is  none  dare  ride 
him.  Alle  for  Love  of  a  brown  Girl,  with  a  Wen  on 
her  Throat,  and  an  extra  Finger. 


July  iSth. 

How  short  a  Time  agone  it  seemeth,  that  in  my 
Prosperity  I  sayd,  "  We  shall  never  be  moved  ;  Thou, 
LORD,  of  Thy  goodness  hast  made  our  Hill  soe 
strong  ! "  "...  Thou  didst  turn  away  thy  Face, 
and  I  was  troubled  ! " 


158  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

28th. 

THUS  sayth  Plato  :  of  Him  whom  he  soughte,  but 
hardly  found  :  "  Truth  is  his  Body,  and  Light  his 
Shadow."  A  marvellous  Saying  for  a  Heathen. 

Hear  also  what  St  John  sayth  :  "  GOD  is  Light ; 
and  in  Him  is  no  Darknesse  at  all."  "  And  the  Light 
was  the  Life  of  Men  :  and  the  Light  shineth  in  Dark- 
ness, and  the  Darkness  comprehended  it  not." 

Hear  also  what  St.  dugustine  sayth  :  "  They  are 
the  most  uncharitable  towards  Error  who  have  never 
experienced  how  hard  a  Matter  it  is  to  come  at  the 
Truth." 

Hard,  indeed.  Here's  Father  agaynst  Willy  and 
agaynst  Erasmus^  of  whom  he  once  could  not  speak 
well  enough  ;  and  now  he  says  that  if  he  upholds 
such  and  such  Opinions  his  dear  Erasmus  may  be  the 
Devil's  Erasmus  for  what  he  cares.  And  here's  Father 
at  Issue  with  half  the  learned  Heads  in  Christendom 
concerning  the  King's  Marriage.  And  yet,  for  alle 
that,  I  think  Father  is  in  the  Right. 

He  taketh  Matters  soe  to  Heart  that  e'en  his  Ap- 
petite fails.  Yesterday  he  put  aside  his  old  favourite 
Dish  of  Brewis,  saying,  "  I  know  not  how  'tis,  good 
Alice;  I've  lost  my  Stomach,  I  think,  for  my  old 
Relishes "...  and  this,  e'en  with  a  Tear  in  his 
Eye.  But  'twas  not  the  Brewis,  I  know,  that  made 
it  start. 


SI1{  THOS.  MOT(E  159 


Aug, 

HE  hath  resigned  the  Great  Seal  !  And  none  of  us 
knew  of  his  having  done  soe,  nor  e'en  of  his  medi- 
tating it,  till  after  Morning  Prayers  to-day,  when, 
insteade  of  one  of  his  Gentlemen  stepping  up  to  my 
Mother  in  her  Pew,  with  the  Words,  "  Madam,  my 
Lord  is  gone,"  he  cometh  up  to  her  himself,  with  a 
Smile  on's  Face,  and  sayth,  low  bowing  as  he  spoke, 
"  Madam,  my  Lord  is  gone."  She  takes  it  for  one 
of  the  manie  Jests  whereof  she  misses  the  Point ;  and 
'tis  not  till  we  are  out  of  Church,  in  the  open  Air, 
that  she  fully  comprehends  my  Lord  Chancellor  is  in- 
deed gone,  and  she  hath  onlie  her  Sir  Thomas  More. 

A  Burst  of  Tears  was  no  more  than  was  to  be  lookt 
for  from  poor  Mother  ;  and,  in  Sooth,  we  alle  felt 
aggrieved  and  mortyfide  enough  ;  but  'twas  a  short 
Sorrow  ;  for  Father  declared  that  he  had  cast  Pelion 
and  Ossa  off  his  Back  into  the  bottomless  Pit ;  and 
fell  into  such  funny  Antics  that  we  were  soon  as 
merry  as  ever  we  were  in  our  Lives.  Patteson,  so  soon 
as  he  hears  it,  comes  leaping  and  skipping  across  the 
Garden,  crying,  "A  fatted  Calf!  let  a  fatted  Calf  be 
killed,  Masters  and  Mistresses,  for  this  my  Brother 
who  was  dead  is  alive  again  !  "  and  falls  a  kissing  his 
Hand.  But  poor  Patteson's  Note  will  soon  change  ; 
for  Father's  diminished  State  will  necessitate  the  Dis- 
missal of  all  extra  Hands ;  and  there  is  manie  a 
Servant  under  his  Roof  whom  he  can  worse  spare 
than  the  poor  Fool. 


160  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

In  the  Evening  he  gathers  us  alle  about  him  in  the 
Pavilion,  where  he  throws  himself  into  his  old  accus- 
tomed Seat,  casts  his  Arm  about  Mother^  and  cries, 
"  How  glad  must  Cincinnatus  have  been  to  spy  out 
his  Cottage  again,  with  l^acllla  standing  at  the  Gate  !  " 
Then,  called  for  Curds  and  Cream ;  sayd  how  sweet 
the  soft  Summer  Air  was  coming  over  the  River,  and 
bade  Cecil  sing  "The  King's  Hunt's  up."  After 
this,  one  Ballad  after  another  was  called  for,  till  alle 
had  sung  their  Lay,  ill  or  well,  he  listing  the  While 
with  closed  Eyes,  and  a  composed  Smile  about  his 
Mouth  ;  the  two  Furrows  between  his  Brows  relax- 
ing graduallie  till  at  length  they  could  no  more  be 
scene.  At  last  he  says, — 

"  Who  was  that  old  Prophet  that  could  not  or 
would  not  prophesy  for  a  King  of  Judah  till  a 
Minstrel  came  and  played  unto  him  ?  Sure,  he  must 
have  loved,  as  I  do,  the  very  lovely  Song  of  one  that 
playeth  well  upon  an  Instrument,  yclept  the  Human 
Heart  j  and  have  felt,  as  I  do  now,  the  Spirit  given 
him  to  speak  of  Matters  foreign  to  his  Mind.  'Tis 
of  res  angusta  domi^  dear  Brats,  I  must  speak  ;  soe,  the 
sooner  begun,  the  sooner  over.  Here  am  I,  with  a 
dear  Wife  and  eight  loved  Children  ...  for  my 
daughters'  Husbands  and  my  Son's  Wife  are  my 
Children  as  much  as  any  ;  and  Mercy  Giggs  is  a 
Daughter  too  .  .  .  nine  Children,  then,  and  eleven 
Grandchildren,  and  a  Swarm  of  Servants  to  boot,  all 
of  whom  have  as  yet  eaten  what  it  pleased  them,  and 
drunken  what  it  suited  them  at  my  Board,  without 
its  being  any  one's  Businesse  to  say  them  nay. 


SI^THOS.  M01(E  161 

'Twas  the  dearest  Privilege  of  my  Lord  Chancellor; 
but  now  he's  dead  and  gone,  how  shall  we  contract 
the  Charges  of  Sir  Thomas  More  ?  " 

We  looked  from  one  to  another,  and  were  silent. 

"  I'll  tell  ye,  dear  ones,"  he  went  on.  u  I  have 
been  brought  up  at  Oxford,  at  an  Inn  of  Chancery,  at 
Lincoln's  Inn,  and  at  the  King's  Court  j  from  the 
lowest  Degree,  that  is,  to  the  highest ;  and  yet  have 
I  in  yearly  Revenues  at  this  Present,  little  above  one 
Hundred  Pounds  a-year ;  but  then,  as  Chilo  sayth, 
*  honest  Loss  is  preferable  to  dishonest  Gain  :  by  the 
first,  a  Man  suffers  once  ;  by  the  second  for  ever  ; ' 
and  I  may  take  up  my  Parable  with  Samuel,  and  say  : 
1  Whose  Ox  have  I  taken  ?  whose  Ass  have  I  taken  ? 
whom  have  I  defrauded  ?  whom  have  I  oppressed  ?  of 
whose  Hand  have  I  received  any  Bribe  to  blinde  mine 
Eyes  therewith  ? '  No,  my  worst  Enemies  cannot 
lay  to  my  Charge  any  of  these  Things  j  and  my 
Trust  in  you  is,  that,  rather  than  regret  I  should  not 
have  made  a  Purse  by  any  such  base  Methods,  you 
will  all  cheerfully  contribute  your  Proportions  to  the 
common  Fund,  and  share  and  share  alike  with  me  in 
this  my  diminished  State." 

We  all  gat  about  him,  and  by  our  Words  and 
Kisses  gave  Warrant  that  we  would. 

"Well,  then,"  quoth  he,  "  my  Mind  is,  that  since 
we  are  all  of  a  Will  to  walk  down-hill  together,  we 
will  do  soe  at  a  breathing  Pace,  and  not  drop  down 
like  a  Plummet.  Let  all  Things  be  done  decently 
and  in  order :  we  won't  descend  to  Oxford  Fare  first, 
nor  yet  to  the  Fare  of  Nfw  Inn.  We'll  begin  with 
L 


1 62  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

Lincoln's  Inn  Diet,  whereon  many  good  and  wise  Men 
thrive  well  ;  if  we  find  this  draw  too  heavily  on  the 
Common-Purse,  we  will,  next  Year,  come  down  to 
Oxford  Fare,  with  which  many  great  and  learned 
Doctors  have  been  conversant;  and,  if  our  Purse 
stretch  not  to  cover  e'en  this,  why,  in  Heaven's 
Name !  we'll  go  begging  together,  with  Staff  and 
Wallet,  and  sing  a  Salve  cR^egina  at  every  good  Man's 
Door,  whereby  we  shall  still  keep  Company,  and  be 
merry  together  !  " 


Sept.  22d. 

Now  that  the  first  Surprise  and  Grief,  and  the  first 
Fervour  of  Fidelity  and  Self-devotion  have  passed 
off,  we  have  subsided  into  how  deep  and  holy  a 
Quiet  ! 

We  read  of  the  Desertion  of  the  World,  as  a 
Matter  of  Course  ;  but,  when  our  own  Turn  comes, 
it  does  seem  strange  to  find  ourselves  let  fall  down 
the  Stream  without  a  single  Hand  outstretched  to 
help  us  ;  forgotten,  in  a  Moment,  as  though  we  had 
never  been,  by  those  who  lately  ate  and  laughed  at 
our  Table.  And  this,  without  any  Fault  or  Offence 
of  ours,  but  merely  from  our  having  lost  the  Light  of 
the  Kings  Countenance.  I  say,  it  does  seem  strange  ; 
but  how  fortunate,  how  blessed  are  those  to  whom 
such  a  Course  of  Events  only  seems  strange,  unaccom- 
panied by  Self-reproach  and  Bitterness  !  I  could  not 
help  feeling  this,  in  reading  an  affectionate  Letter 
deare  Father  writ  this  Forenoon  to  Erasmus,  wherein 


SI^THOS.  MO<%E  163 

he  sayd,  "I  have  now  obtained  what,  from  a  Child, 
I  have  continually  wished  !  that,  being  entirely 
quit  of  Businesse  and  all  publick  Affairs,  I  might 
live  for  a  Time  only  to  GOD  and  myself." 

Having  no  Hankering  after  the  old  Round  he  soe 
long  hath  run,  he  now,  in  Fact,  looks  younger  every 
Day  ;  and  yet,  not  with  the  same  Kind  of  Youth  he 
had  before  his  Back  was  bowed  under  the  Chancellor- 
ship. 'Tis  a  more  composed,  chastised  Sort  of  Re- 
juvenescence :  rather  the  soft  Warmth  of  Autumn, 
which  sometimes  seems  like  May,  than  May  itself: 
the  enkindling,  within  this  mortal  Tabernacle,  of  a 
heavenly  Light  that  never  grows  dim,  because  it  is 
immortal ;  and  burns  the  same  yesterday,  to-day,  and 
for  ever  :  a  Youthfulness  of  Soul  and  Mind  character- 
ised by  Growth  ;  Something  with  which  this  World 
and  its  fleeting  Fancies  has  nothing  to  do  :  Something 
that  the  King  can  neither  impart  nor  take  away. 

.  .  .  We  have  had  a  tearfull  Morning  .  .  . 
poor  Patteson  has  gone.  My  Father  hath  obtained 
good  Quarters  for  him  with  my  Lord  Mayory  with  a 
Stipulation  that  he  shall  retain  his  Office  with  the 
Lord  Mayor  for  the  Time  being,  as  long  as  he  can  fill 
it  at  all.  This  suits  Patteson,  who  says  he  will  sooner 
shift  Masters  year  by  year,  than  grow  too  fond  of  any 
Man  again,  as  he  hath  of  Father ;  but  there  has  been 
sad  blubbering  and  blowing  of  Noses. 


1 64  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 


Sept. 

THIS  Afternoon,  coming  upon  Mercy  seated  in  the 
Alcove,  like  unto  the  Image  of  some  Saint  in  a  Niche, 
her  Hands  folded  on  her  Lap,  and  her  Eyes  stead- 
fastly agaze  on  the  setting  Sun,  I  could  not  but  mark 
how  Years  were  silentlie  at  work  upon  her,  as  doubt- 
less upon  us  alle  ;  the  tender,  fearfulle  Girl  having 
thus  graduallie  changed  into  the  sober,  high-minded 
Woman.  She  is  so  seldom  scene  in  Repose,  so  con- 
stantly astir  and  afoot  in  this  or  that  kind  Office, 
mostly  about  the  Children,  that  I  had  never  thought 
upon  it  before  ;  but  now  I  was  alle  at  once  avised 
to  marvel  that  she  who  had  so  long  seemed  fitter  for 
Heaven  than  Earth,  shoulde  never  literallie  have 
vowed  herself  the  Spouse  of  Christ ;  more  in  especiall 
as  all  Expectation  of  being  the  Spouse  of  anie  else 
must  long  since  have  died  within  her. 

I  sayd,  "Mercy,  thou  lookst  like  a  Nun  :  how  is't 
thou  hast  ne'er  become  one  in  Earnest  ? " 

She  started  ;  then  sayd,  "  Could  I  be  more  usefull  ? 
more  harmless  ?  less  exposed  to  Temptation  ?  or  half 
so  happy  as  I  am  now  ?  In  sooth,  Meg,  the  Time 
has  been  when  methought,  how  sweet  the  living 
Death  of  the  Cloister  !  How  good  that  must  needs 
be  which  had  the  Suffrages  of  Chrysostom  the  golden- 
mouthed,  and  holy  Ambrose,  and  our  own  Anselm  / 
How  peacefull,  to  take  Wing  like  the  Dove,  and  fly 
away  from  a  naughty  World,  and  be  at  Rest !  How 
brave,  to  live  alone,  like  St  Antony,  in  the  Desert ! 


SI^THOS.  MO<%E  165 

only  I  would  have  had  some  Books  with  me  in  my 
Cave,  and  'tis  uncertayn  whether  St  Antony  had 
Knowledge  of  Letters,  beyond  the  heaven-taught 
Lesson,  *  GOD  is  Love,'  ...  for  methought  so 
much  Reflection  and  no  Action  would  be  too  much 
for  a  Woman's  Mind  to  bear — I  might  goe  mad  :  and 
I  remembered  me  how  the  Dove  that  gladly  flew 
away  from  the  Ark,  gladly  flew  back,  and  abode  in 
the  Ark  till  such  Time  as  a  new  Home  was  ready 
for  her.  And  methought,  cannot  I  live  apart  from 
Sin  here,  and  now ;  and  as  to  Sorrow,  where  can 
we  live  apart  from  that  ?  Sure,  we  may  live  on  the 
Skirts  of  the  World  in  a  Spiritt  as  truly  unworldlie 
as  though  we  were  altogether  out  of  it  :  and  here  I 
may  come  and  go,  and  range  in  the  fresh  Air,  and  love 
other  Folks'  Children,  and  read  my  Psalter,  and  pore 
over  the  Sayings  of  the  wise  Men  of  old,  and  look  on 
the  Faces  I  love,  and  sit  at  the  Feet  of  Sir  Thomas 
More.  Soe  there,  Meg,  are  my  poor  Reasons  for  not 
caring  to  be  a  Nun.  Our  deare  Lord  is  in  himself 
all  that  our  highest,  holiest  Affections  can  seek  or 
comprehend  ;  for  he  made  these  our  Hearts  ;  he  gave 
us  these  our  Affections  ;  and  through  them  the  Spirit 
speaks.  Aspiring  to  their  Source,  they  rise  up  like 
the  white  Smoke  and  bright  Flame  ;  while,  on  Earth, 
if  left  unmastered,  they  burn,  suffocate,  and  destroy. 
Yet  they  have  their  natural  and  innocent  Outlets  even 
here ;  and  a  Woman  may  warm  herself  by  them 
without  Scorching,  and  yet  be  neither  a  Wife  nor  a 
Nun." 


1 66  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 


Sept.  2$th. 

EVER  since  Father's  Speech  to  us  in  the  Pavilion,  we 
have  beene  of  one  Heart  and  one  Soul ;  neither  have 
any  of  us  said  that  aught  of  the  Things  we  possessed 
were  our  own,  but  we  have  had  all  Things  in  Common. 
And  we  have  eaten  our  Meat  with  Gladness  and 
Singleness  of  Heart. 

This  Afternoon,  expressing  to  Father  my  gratefull 
Sense  of  our  present  Happiness  .  .  .  "  Yes,  Meg" 
returns  he,  "  I  too,  am  deeply  thankful  for  this  breath- 
ing Space." 

"  Do  you  look  on  it  as  no  more,  then  ? "  I  sayd. 

"  As  no  more,  Meg  :  we  shall  have  a  Thunder-clap 
by-and-by.  Look  out  on  the  Thames.  See  how 
unwontedlie  clear  it  is,  and  how  low  the  Swallows 
fly.  .  .  .  How  distinctlie  we  see  the  green  Sedges 
on  Battersea  Bank,  and  their  reflected  Images  in  the 
Water.  We  can  almost  discern  the  Features  of  those 
poor  Knaves  digging  in  the  Cabbage  Gardens,  and 
hear  'em  talk,  so  still  is  the  Air.  Have  you  ne'er 
before  noted  these  Signs  ?  " 

"  A  Storm  is  brewing,"  I  sayd. 

"  Aye,  we  shall  have  a  Lightning-flash  anon.  So 
still,  Meg^  is  also  our  moral  Atmosphere  just  now. 
GOD  is  giving  us  a  breathing  Space,  as  he  did  to  the 
Egyptians  before  the  Plague  of  Hail,  that  they  might 
gather  their  live  Stock  within  Doors.  Let  us  take 
for  Example  them  that  believed  and  obeyed  him  ;  and 
improve  this  holy  Pause." 


SI^THOS.  MOT(E  167 

Just  at  this  Moment,  a  few  heavie  Drops  fell 
agaynst  the  Window  Pane,  and  were  scene  by  both. 
Our  Eyes  met ;  and  I  felt  a  silent  Pang. 

"  Five  Days  before  the  Passover,"  resumed  Father, 
c<  all  seemed  as  still  and  quiet  as  we  are  now  ;  but 
JESUS  knew  his  Hour  was  at  hand.  E'en  while  he 
yet  spake  familiarly  among  the  People,  there  came  a 
Sound  from  Heaven,  and  they  that  stood  by  said  it 
thundered  ;  but  he  knew  it  for  the  Voice  of  his  dear 
Father.  Let  us,  in  like  Manner,  when  the  Clap 
cometh,  recognise  in  it  the  Voice  of  GOD,  and  not 
be  afraid  with  any  Amazement." 

Nov.  id. 

GAMMER  GURNEY  is  dead,  and  I  must  say  I  am 
glad  of  it.  The  Change,  to  her,  must  be  blessed,  and 
there  seemed  some  Danger  lest,  after  having  escaped 
being  ducked  for  a  Witch,  she  shoulde  have  been 
burnt  for  a  Heretic.  Father  looked  on  her  as  an 
obstinate  old  Woman  ;  Will  counted  her  little  short 
of  a  Saint  and  Prophetess,  and  kept  her  well  supplied 
with  alle  she  could  need.  Latterly  she  was  stone 
deaf;  so  'tis  a  happy  Release. 

The  settled  Purpose  of  Father's  Soul,  just  now,  is 
to  make  up  a  Marriage  between  Mercy  and  Dr 
Clement.  'Tis  high  Advancement  for  her,  and  there 
seems  to  have  been  some  old  Liking  between  'em  we 
never  knew  of. 


168  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 


1533,     pri    I. 

THOUGH  some  Months  have  passed  since  my  Father 
uttered  his  warning  Voice,  and  all  continues  to  go 
quiet,  I  cannot  forbear,  now  and  then,  to  call  his 
Monition  to  Mind,  and  look  about  for  the  Cloud  that 
is  to  bring  the  Thunder-clap  ;  but  the  Expectation 
sobers  rather  than  saddens  me. 

This  Morning,  leaning  over  the  River  Wall,  I 
was  startled  by  the  cold,  damp  Hand  of  some  one 
from  behind  being  laid  on  mine.  At  the  same  Time 
a  familiar  Voice  exclaimed,  "  Canst  tell  us,  Mistress, 
why  Fools  have  hot  Heads  and  Hands  icy  cold  ?  " 

I  made  Answer,  "  Canst  tell  me,  Patteson,  why 
Fools  should  stray  out  of  Bounds  ?  " 

"Why,  that's  what  Fools  do  every  Day,"  he 
readily  replied  ;  "  but  this  is  All  Fools'  Day,  mine  own 
special  Holiday  ;  and  1  told  my  Lord  Mayor  over- 
night, that  if  he  lookt  for  a  Fool  this  Morning,  he 
must  look  in  the  Glass.  In  sooth,  Mistress  Megy 
I  should  by  Rights  wear  the  Gold  Chain  and  he  the 
Motley ;  for  a  proper  Fool  he  is,  and  I  shall  be  glad 
when  his  Year's  Service  to  me  is  out.  The  worst  o' 
these  Lord  Mayors  is,  that  we  can't  part  with  'em  till 
their  Time's  up.  Why  now,  this  present  one  hath 
not  so  much  Understanding  as  would  foot  an  old 
Stocking  ;  'twas  but  yesterday  when,  in  Quality  of 
my  Taster,  he  civilly  enough  makes  over  to  me  a 
half-eaten  Plate  of  Gurnet,  which  I  wave  aside,  thus, 
saying,  I  eat  no  Fish  of  which  I  cannot  affirm,  'rari 


THOS.  MOT(E  169 

sunt  BoniJ  few  are  the  Bones  .  .  .  and  I  protest 
to  you  he  knew  it  not  for  Fools'  Latin.  Thus  I'm 
driven,  from  mere  Discouragement,  to  leave  prating 
for  listening,  which  thou  knowest,  Mistress,  is  no 
Fool's  Office  ;  and  among  thesundrie  Matters  I  hear 
at  my  Lord's  Table  ...  for  he  minds  not  what 
he  says  before  his  Servants,  thereby  giving  new  Proof 
'tis  he  shoulde  wear  the  Motley  ...  I  note  his 
saying  that  the  Kings  private  Marriage  will  assuredlie 
be  made  publick  this  coming  Easter,  and  my  Lady 
Anne  will  be  crowned  .  .  .  more  by  token,  he 
knows  the  Merchant  that  will  supply  the  Genoa 
Velvet  and  Cloth  of  Gold,  and  the  Masquers  that  are 
to  enact  the  Pageant.  For  the  Love  o'  Safety,  then, 
Mistress  Meg,  bid  thy  good  Father  e'en  take  a  Fool's 
Advice,  and  eat  humble  Pie  betimes,  for  doubt  not 
this  proud  Madam  to  be  as  vindictive  as  Herodias, 
and  one  that,  unless  he  appease  her  full  early,  will 
have  his  Head  set  before  her  in  a  Charger.  I've  said 
my  Say." 


April 

THREE  Bishops  have  been  here  this  Forenoon,  to  bid 
Father  to  the  Coronation,  and  offer  him  twenty 
Pounds  to  provide  his  Dress  ;  but  Father  hath,  with 
Courtesie,  declined  to  be  present.  After  much 
friendly  pressing,  they  parted,  seemingly  on  good 
Terms  ;  but  I  have  Misgivings  of  the  Issue. 


I yo  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 


April  gth. 

A  RIDICULOUS  Charge  hath  beene  got  up  'gainst  dear 
Father ;  no  less  than  of  Bribery  and  Corruption. 
One  Parnell  complain eth  of  a  Decree  given  agaynst 
him  in  favour  of  one  Vaughan,  whose  Wife,  he  de- 
poneth,  gave  Father  a  gilt  Flaggon.  To  the  noe 
small  Surprise  of  the  Council,  Father  admitted  that 
she  had  done  soe  :  "  But,  my  Lords,"  proceeded  he, 
when  they  had  uttered  a  few  Sentences  of  Reprehen- 
sion somewhat  too  exultantlie,  "  will  ye  list  the  Con- 
clusion of  the  Tale  ?  I  bade  my  Butler  fill  the  Cup 
with  Wine,  and  having  drunk  her  Health,  I  made  her 
pledge  me,  and  then  restored  her  Gift,  and  would  not 
take  it  again." 

As  innocent  a  Matter,  touching  the  offering  him  a 
Pair  of  Gloves  containing  Forty  Pounds,  and  his 
taking  the  first  and  returning  the  last,  saying  he 
preferred  his  Gloves  without  Lining,  hath  been  made 
publick  with  like  Triumph  to  his  own  goode  Fame  ; 
but  alack  !  these  Feathers  show  which  way  sets  the 
Wind. 


April  i-$th. 

A  HEAVIER  Charge  than  either  of  the  above  hath 
been  got  up,  concerning  the  wicked  Woman  of 
Kent,  with  whom  they  accuse  him  of  having  tampered, 
that,  in  her  pretended  Revelations  and  Rhapsodies, 
she  might  utter  Words  against  the  King's  Divorce. 


SI^THOS.  M01(E  171 

His  Name  hath,  indeed,  been  put  in  the  Bill  of 
Attainder  ;  but  out  of  Favour,  he  hath  been  granted 
a  private  Hearing,  his  Judges  being,  the  new  Arch- 
bishop, the  new  Chancellor,  his  Grace  of  Norfolk,  and 
Master  Cromwell. 

He  tells  us  that  they  stuck  not  to  the  Matter  in 
Hand,  but  began  cunningly  enow  to  sound  him  on 
the  King's  Matters  ;  and  rinding  they  could  not  shake 
him,  did  proceed  to  Threats,  which,  he  told  'em, 
might  well  enow  scare  Children,  but  not  him  ;  and 
as  to  his  having  provoked  his  Grace  the  King  to  sett 
forth  in  his  Book  aught  to  dishonour  and  fetter  a  good 
Christian,  his  Grace  himself  well  knew  the  Book  was 
never  shewn  him  save  for  verbal  Criticism  when  the 
Subject-matter  was  completed  by  the  Makers  of  the  same, 
and  that  he  had  warned  his  Grace  not  to  express  soe 
much  Submission  to  the  Pope.  Whereupon  they 
with  great  Displeasure  dismissed  him,  and  he  took 
boat  for  Chelsea  with  mine  Husband  in  such  gay 
Spiritts,  that  Will,  not  having  been  privy  to  what 
had  passed,  concluded  his  Name  to  have  beene 
struck  out  of  the  Bill  of  Attainder,  and  congratu- 
lated him  thereupon  soe  soone  as  they  came  aland, 
saying,  "  I  guess,  Father,  all  is  well,  seeing  you  thus 
merry." 

"It  is, indeed,  son  Roper,"  returns  Father  steadilie  ; 
repeating  thereupon,  once  or  twice,  this  Phrase,  "  All 
is  well." 

Will,  somehow  mistrusting  him,  puts  the  Matter  to 
him  agayn. 

"  You  are  then,  Father,  put  out  of  the  Bill  ? " 


172  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

"  Out  of  the  Bill,  good  Fellow  ? "  repeats  Father^ 
stopping  short  in  his  Walk,  and  regarding  him  with 
a  Smile  that  Will  sayth  was  like  to  break  his  Heart. 
.  .  .  "  Wouldst  thou  know,  dear  Son,  why  I  am  so 
joyful  ?  In  good  Faith,!  have  given  the  Devil  a  foul 
Fall ;  for  I  have  with  those  Lords  gone  so  far,  as  that 
without  great  Shame  I  can  ne'er  go  back.  The  first 
Step,  Willy  is  the  worst,  and  that's  taken." 

And  so,  to  the  House,  with  never  another  Word, 
Will  being  smote  at  the  Heart. 

But,  this  Forenoon,  deare  Will  comes  running  in  to 
me,  with  Joy  all  bright,  and  tells  me  he  hath  just 
heard  from  Cromwell  that  Father  s  Name  is  in  sooth 
struck  out.  Thereupon,  we  go  together  to  him  with 
the  News.  He  taketh  it  thankfully,  yet  composedly, 
saying,  as  he  lays  his  Hand  on  my  Shoulder,  "  In  faith, 
Meg,  quod  dlffertur  non  aufertur"  Seeing  me  some- 
what stricken  and  overborne,  he  sayth,  "Come,  let's 
leave  good  Will  awhile  to  the  Company  of  his  own 
select  and  profitable  Thoughts,  and  take  a  Turn 
together  by  the  Water  Side." 

Then  closing  his  Book,  which  I  marked  was  Plato's 
Phtedon,  he  steps  forthe  with  me  into  the  Garden, 
leaning  on  my  Shoulder,  and  pretty  heavilie  too. 
After  a  Turn  or  two  in  Silence,  he  lightens  his 
Pressure,  and  in  a  bland,  peaceifying  Tone  commences 
Horace  his  tenth  Ode,  Book  second,  and  goes  through 
the  first  fourteen  or  fifteen  Lines  in  a  kind  of  lulling 
Monotone;  then  takes  another  Turn  or  two,  ever 
looking  at  the  Thames  ;  and  in  a  stronger  Voice  begins 
his  favourite 


SI^THOS.  MO<RE  173 

"  Justum,  ac  tenacem  Propositi  Virum 
Non  Civium  Ardor"  etc, 
on  to 

"  Impavidum  ferient  Ruince  ;  " 

— and  lets  go  his  Hold  on  me  to  extend  his  Hand  in 
fine,  free  Action.  Then,  drawing  me  to  him  agayn, 
presentlie  murmurs,  "  I  reckon  that  the  Sufferings  of 
this  present  Time  are  not  worthy  to  be  compared 
with  the  Glory  which  shall  be  revealed  in  us.  ... 
Oh  no,  not  worthy  to  be  compared.  I  have  lived;  I 
have  laboured  ;  I  have  loved.  I  have  lived  in  them  I 
loved  ;  laboured  for  them  I  loved  ;  loved  them  for 
whom  I  laboured  ;  my  Labour  has  not  been  in  vayn. 
To  love  and  to  labour  is  the  Sum  of  living,  and  yet 
how  manie  think  they  live  who  neither  labour  nor 
love  !  Agayn,  how  manie  labour  and  love,  and  yet 
are  not  loved ;  but  I  have  beene  loved,  and  my  Labour 
has  not  been  in  vayn.  Now,  the  Daye  is  far  spent, 
and  the  Night  is  at  hand,  and  the  Time  draweth  nigh 
when  Man  resteth  from  his  Labours,  even  from  his 
Labours  of  Love  ;  but  still  he  shall  love  and  he  shall 
live  where  the  Spiritt  sayth  he  shall  rest  from  his 
Labours,  and  where  his  Works  do  follow  him,  for  he 
entereth  into  Rest  through  and  to  Him  who  is  Life, 
and  Light,  and  Love." 

Then  looking  steadfastlie  at  the  Thames^  "  How 
quietlie,"  sayth  he,  "  it  flows  on  !  This  River,  Meg, 
hath  its  Origin  from  seven  petty  Springs  somewhither 
amongst  the  Gloucestershire  Hills,  where  they  bubble 
forthe  unnoted  save  by  the  Herd  and  Hind.  Belike, 
they  murmur  over  the  Pebbles  prettily  enough  ;  but  a 


174  rHE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

great  River,  mark  you,  never  murmurs.  It  mur- 
mured and  babbled  too,  'tis  like,  whilst  only  a  Brook, 
and  brawled  away  as  it  widened  and  deepened  and 
chafed  agaynst  Obstacles,  and  here  and  there  got  a 
Fall,  and  splashed  and  made  much  Ado,  but  ever  kept 
running  on  towards  its  End,  still  deepening  and 
widening  ;  and  now  towards  the  Close  of  its  Course 
look  you  how  swift  and  quiet  it  is,  running  mostly 
between  Flats,  and  with  the  dear  blue  Heaven  reflected 
in  its  Face." 


'TwAS  o'  Wednesday  was  a  Week,  we  were  quietly 
taking  our  Dinner,  when,  after  a  loud  and  violent 
Knocking  at  the  outer  Door,  in  cometh  a  Pursuivant, 
and  summoneth  Father  to  appear  next  Daye  before 
the  Commissioners,  to  take  the  newly-coined  Oath  of 
Supremacy.  Mother  utters  a  hasty  Cry,  Bess  turns 
white  as  Death,  but  I,  urged  by  I  know  not  what 
suddain  Impulse  to  con  the  new  Comer's  Visage 
narrowly,  did  with  Eagerness  exclaim,  "  Here's  some 
Jest  of  Father's;  it's  only  Dick  Halliwell  /" 

Whereupon,  Father  burst  out  a-laughing,  hugged 
Mother,  called  Bess  a  silly  Puss,  and  gave  Halliwell  a 
Groat  for's  Payns.  Now,  while  some  were  laughing, 
and  others  taking  Father  prettie  sharplie  to  Task  for 
soe  rough  a  Crank,  I  fell  a  muzing,  what  could  be  the 
Drift  of  this,  and  coulde  only  surmize  it  mighte  be 
to  harden  us  beforehand,  as  'twere,  to  what  was  sure 
to  come  at  last.  And  the  Pre-apprehension  of  this 


SI^THOS.  MOT(E  175 

soe  belaboured  my  alreadie  'oerburthened  Spiritts,  as 
that  I  was  fayn  to  betake  myself  to  the  Nurserie,  and 
lose  all  Thought  and  Reflection  in  my  little  Bess's 
prettie  Ways.  And,  this  not  answering,  was  forct  to 
have  Recourse  to  Prayer  ;  then,  leaving  my  Closett, 
was  able  to  return  to  the  Nurserie,  and  forget  myselfe 
awhile  in  the  Mirth  of  the  Infants. 

Hearing  Voyces  beneathe  the  Lattice,  I  lookt 
forthe,  and  beheld  his  Grace  of  Norfolk  (of  late  a 
strange  Guest)  walking  beneath  the  Window  in 
earnest  Converse  with  Father-,  and,  as  they  turned 
about,  I  hearde  him  say,  "  By  the  Mass,  Master  Mare, 
'tis  perilous  striving  with  Princes.  I  could  wish  you, 
as  a  Friend,  to  incline  to  the  Kings  Pleasure  ;  for 
Indlgnatio  Principis  Mors  est." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  says  Father ;  "  why  then  there  will 
be  onlie  this  Difference  between  your  Grace  and  me, 
that  I  shall  die  to-daye,  and  you  to-morrow  j " — 
which  was  the  Sum  of  what  I  caught. 

Next  Morning,  we  were  breaking  our  Fast  with 
Peacefullnesse  of  Heart,  on  the  Principle  that 
sufficient  for  the  Daye  is  the  Evill  thereof,  and  there 
had  beene  a  wordy  War  between  our  two  Factions  of 
the  Neri  and  Bianchi,  Bess  having  defalked  from  the 
Mancheteers  on  the  Ground  that  black  Bread  sweetened 
the  Breath  and  settled  the  Teeth,  to  the  no  small 
Triumph  of  the  Cob  Loaf  Party  ;  while  Daisy, 
persevering  at  her  Crusts,  sayd,  "  No,  I  can 
cleave  to  the  Rye  Bread  as  steddilie  as  anie  among 
you,  but  'tis  vayn  of  Father  to  maintain  that  it  is 
as  toothsome  as  a  Manchet,  or  that  I  eat  it  to  whiten 


iy6  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

my  Teeth,  for  thereby  he  robs  Self-deniall  of  its 
Grace." 

Father,  strange  to  say,  seemed  taken  at  Vantage, 
and  was  pausing  for  a  Retort,  when  Hobson  coming 
in  and  whispering  Somewhat  in  his  Ear,  he  rose 
suddainlie  and  went  forthe  of  the  Hall  with  him, 
putting  his  Head  back  agayn  to  say,  "  Rest  ye  alle 
awhile  where  ye  be,"  which  we  did,  uneasilie  enow. 
Anon  he  returns,  brushing  his  Cap,  and  says  calmlie, 
u  Now,  let's  forthe  to  Church,"  and  clips  Mother's 
Arm  beneathe  his  owne  and  leads  the  Way.  We 
follow  as  soon  as  we  can  ;  and  I,  listing  to  him  more 
than  to  the  Priest,  did  think  I  never  hearde  him  make 
Response  more  composedlie,  nor  sing  more  lustilie, 
by  the  which  I  founde  myself  in  stouter  Heart. 
After  Prayers,  he  is  shriven,  after  which  he  saunters 
back  with  us  to  the  House  ;  then  brisklie  turning  on 
his  Heel,  cries  to  my  Husband,  "  Now,  Will,  let's 
toward,  Lad,"  and  claps  the  Wicket  after  him,  leaving 
us  at  t'other  Side  without  so  much  as  casting  back  a 
parting  Look.  Though  he  evermore  had  beene 
avised  to  let  us  companie  him  to  the  Boat,  and  there 
kiss  him  once  and  agayn  or  ever  he  went,  I  know  not 
that  I  should  have  thoughte  much  of  this,  had  not 
Daisy,  looking  after  him  keenly,  exclaymed  somewhat 
shortlie  as  she  turned  in  Doors,  "  I  wish  I  had  not 
uttered  that  Quip  about  the  Cob-loaf." 

Oh,  how  heavilie  sped  the  Day  !  The  House,  too 
big  now  for  its  Master's  diminished  Retinue,  had  yet 
never  hitherto  seemed  lonesome  ;  but  now  a  Some- 
what of  drearie  and  dreadfull,  inexpressible  in  Words, 


SI^THOS.  MO<I(E  177 

invisible  to  the  Eye,  but  apprehended  by  the  inner 
Sense,  filled  the  blank  Space  alle  about.  For  the  first 
Time,  everie  one  seemed  idle  ;  not  only  disinclined 
for  Businesse,  but  as  though  there  was  Something 
unseemlie  in  addressing  one's  Self  to  it.  There  was 
nothing  to  cry  about,  nothing  to  talk  over,  and  yet 
we  alle  stoode  agaze  at  each  other  in  Groups,  like  the 
Cattle  under  the  Trees  when  a  Storm  is  at  hand. 
Mercy  was  the  first  to  start  off.  I  held  her  back  and 
said,  "  What  is  to  do  ?  "  She  whispered,  "  Pray." 
I  let  her  Arm  drop,  but  Bess  at  that  Instant  comes  up 
with  Cheeks  as  colourless  as  Parchment.  She  sayth, 
u'Tis  made  out  now.  A  Pursuivant  de  Facto  fetched 
him  forthe  this  Morning."  We  gave  one  deep, 
universal  Sigh  ;  Mercy  broke  away,  and  I  after  her, 
to  seek  the  same  Remedy,  but  alack,  in  vayn.  .  .  . 


How  large  a  Debt  we  owe  you,  wise  and  holie  Men 
of  old  !  How  ye  counsel  us  to  Patience,  incite  us  to 
Self-mastery,  cheer  us  on  to  high  Emprize,  temper  in 
us  the  Heat  of  Youth,  school  our  Inexperience,  calm 
the  o'erwrought  Mind,  allay  the  Anguish  of  Dis- 
appointment, cheat  Suspense,  and  master  Despair.  .  . 
How  much  better  and  happier  ye  would  make  us,  if 
we  would  but  list  your  Teaching  ! 

Bess  hath  fallen  Sick  ;  no  marvell.  Everie  one 
goeth  heavilie.  Alle  Joy  is  darkened  j  the  Mirthe  of 
the  House  is  gone. 

M 


178  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

Will  tells  me,  that  as  they  pushed  off  from  the 
Stairs,  Father  took  him  about  the  Neck  and  whispered, 
"  I  thank  our  LORD,  the  Field  is  won  ! "  Sure, 
Regu/us  ne'er  went  forthe  with  higher  Self-devotion. 

Having  declared  his  Inabilitie  to  take  the  Oath  as 
it  stoode,  they  bade  him,  Will  tells  me,  take  a  Turn 
in  the  Garden  while  they  administered  it  to  sundrie 
others,  thus  affording  him  Leisure  for  Re-considera- 
tion. But  they  might  as  well  have  bidden  the  Neap- 
tide  turn  before  its  Hour.  When  called  in  agayn,  he 
was  as  firm  as  ever,  so  was  given  in  Ward  to  the  Abbot 
of  Westminster  till  the  Kings  Grace  was  informed  of 
the  Matter.  And  now,  the  Fool's  wise  Saying  of 
vindictive  Herodias  came  true,  for  'twas  the  Kings 
Mind  to  have  Mercy  on  his  old  Servant,  and  tender 
him  a  qualifyed  Oath ;  but  Queen  Anne,  by  her 
importunate  Clamours,  did  overrule  his  proper  Will, 
and  at  four  Days'  End,  the  full  Oath  being  agayn 
tendered  and  rejected,  Father  was  committed  to  the 
Tower.  Oh,  wicked  Woman,  how  could  you  ?  .  .  . 
Sure,  you  never  loved  a  Father.  .  .  . 


May 

IN  Answer  to  our  incessant  Applications  throughout 
this  last  Month  past,  Mother  hath  at  length  obtayned 
Access  to  dear  Father.  She  returned,  her  Eyes  nigh 
swollen  to  closing  with  weeping.  .  .  .  We  crowded 
round  about,  burning  for  her  Report,  but  'twas  some 
Time  ere  she  coulde  fetch  Breath  of  Heart  to  give  it 
us.  At  length  Daisy,  kissing  her  Hand  once  and 


THOS.  MOT{E  179 


agayn,  draws  forthe  a  disjoynted  Tale,  somewhat  after 
this  Fashion. 

"  Come,  give  over  weeping,  dearest  Mother,  'twill 
do  neither  him,  you,  nor  us  anie  Goode.  .  .  .  What 
was  your  first  Speech  of  him  ?  " 

"Oh,  my  first  Speech,  Sweetheart,  was  *  What, 
my  Goodness,  Mr  More  !  I  marvell  how  that  you, 
who  were  always  counted  a  wise  Man,  should  now  soe 
play  the  Fool  as  to  lie  here  in  this  close,  filthy  Prison, 
shut  up  with  Mice  and  Rats,  when  you  mighte  be 
abroade  and  at  your  Liberty,  with  the  Favour  of  King 
and  Council,  and  return  to  your  righte  fayr  House, 
your  Books  and  Gallery,  and  your  Wife,  Children, 
and  Household,  if  soe  be  you  onlie  woulde  but  do  what 
the  Bishops  and  best  learned  of  the  Realm  have, 
without  Scruple,  done  alreadie.'  " 

"And  what  sayd  he,  Mother,  to  that  ?  "  .  .  . 

"Why,  then,  Sweetheart,  he  chucks  me  under  the 
Chin  and  sayeth,  '  I  prithee,  good  Mrs  Alice,  to  tell 
me  one  Thing.'  .  .  .  Soe  then  I  say,  *  What 
Thing  ?  '  Soe  then  he  sayeth,  *  Is  not  this  House, 
Sweetheart,  as  nigh  Heaven  as  mine  own  ?'  Soe 
then  I  jerk  my  Head  away  and  say,  '  Tilly-valley  ! 
Tilly-valley  !  '  " 

Sayth  Bess  "  Sure,  Mother,  that  was  cold  Com- 
fort. .  .  .  And  what  next  ?  " 

"  Why,  then  I  said,  l  Bone  Deus,  Man  !  Bone  Deus  ! 
will  this  Gear  never  be  left  ?  '  So  then  he  say  th, 
'  Well  then,  Mrs  Alice,  if  it  be  soe,  'tis  mighty  well, 
but,  for  my  Part,  I  see  no  greate  Reason  why  I  shoulde 
much  joy  in  my  gay  House,  or  in  Aniething  belong- 


i8o  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

ing  thereunto,  when,  if  I  shoulde  be  but  seven  Years 
buried  underground,  and  then  arise  and  come  thither 
agayn,  I  shoulde  not  fail  to  find  Some  therein  that 
woulde  bid  me  get  out  of  Doors,  and  tell  me  'twas 
none  o'  mine.  What  Cause  have  I,  then,  to  care  soe 
greatlie  for  a  House  that  woulde  soe  soone  forget  its 
Master?'" 

"  And  then,  Mother  ?  and  then  ?  " 

"Soe  then,  Sweetheart,  he  say th,  c Come  tell  me, 
Mrs  Alice,  how  long  do  you  think  we  might  reckon 
on  living  to  enjoy  it?'  Soe  I  say,  'Some  twenty 
Years,  forsooth.'  *  In  faith,'  says  he,  *  had  you  said 
some  thousand  Years,  it  had  beene  Somewhat ;  and 
yet  he  were  a  very  bad  Merchant  that  woulde  put 
himselfe  in  Danger  to  lose  Eternity  for  a  thousand 
Years  .  .  .  how  much  the  rather  if  we  are  not  sure 
to  enjoy  it  one  Day  to  an  End  ?'  Soe  then  he  puts 
me  off  with  Questions,  How  is  Will?  and  Daisy? 
and  Rupert  ?  and  this  one  ?  and  t'other  one  ?  and  the 
Peacocks  ?  and  Rabbits  ?  and  have  we  elected  a  new 
King  of  the  Cob-loaf  yet  ?  and  has  Tom  found  his 
Hoop  ?  and  is  the  Hasp  of  the  Buttery-hatch  mended 
yet  ?  and  how  goes  the  Court  ?  and  what  was  the 
Text  o'  Sunday  ?  and  have  I  practised  the  Viol !  and 
how  are  we  off  for  Money  ?  and  why  can't  he  see 
Meg?  Then  he  asks  for  this  Book  and  t'other  Book, 
but  I've  forgot  their  Names,  and  he  sayth  he's  kept 
mighty  short  of  Meat,  though  'tis  little  he  eats,  but 
his  Man  John  a  Wood  is  gay  an'  hungry,  and  'tis  worth 
a  World  to  see  him  at  a  salt  Herring.  Then  he 
gives  me  Counsell  of  this  and  that,  and  puts  his  Arm 


SI1(  THOS.  MOT{E  181 

about  me  and  says,  '  Come,  let  us  pray  ; '  but  while 
he  kept  praying  for  one  and  t'other,  I  kepta-counting 
of  his  gray  Hairs  ;  he'd  none  a  Month  agone.  And 
we're  scarce  off  our  Knees,  when  I'm  fetched  away  ; 
and  I  say,  '  When  will  you  change  your  Note,  and 
act  like  a  v/ise  Man  ?  '  and  he  say  th,  *  When  ?  when  ? ' 
looking  very  profound  ;  <  why,  .  .  .  when  Gorse  is 
out  of  Blossom  and  Kissing  out  of  Fashion.'  Soe 
puts  me  forthe  by  the  Shoulders  with  a  Laugh,  calling 
after  me, c  Remember  me  over  and  over  agayn  to  them 
alle,  and  let  me  see  Meg?  " 

...  I  feel  as  if  a  String  were  tied  tight  about  my 
Heart.  Methinketh  'twill  burst  if  we  goe  on 
long  soe. 

July  2$th. 

HE  hath  writ  us  a  few  Lines  with  a  Coal,  ending  with 
"  Sursum  Corday  dear  Children  !  up  with  your  Hearts." 
The  Bearer  was  dear  Bonvisi. 

Aug.  1 6th. 

THE  LORD  begins  to  cut  us  short.  We  are  now  on 
very  meagre  Commons,  dear  Mother  being  obliged  to 
pay  fifteen  Shillings  a  week  for  the  Board,  poor  as  it 
is,  of  Father  and  his  Servant.  She  hath  parted  with 
her  Velvet  Gown,  embroidered  overthwart,  to  my 
Lady  Sands'  Woman.  Her  Mantle  edged  with 
Coney  went  long  ago. 

But  we  lose  not  Heart ;  I  think  mine  is  becoming 
annealed  in  the  Furnace,  and  will  not  now  break.  I 


1 82  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

have  writ  somewhat  after  this  Fashion  to  him.  .  .  . 
"  What  do  you  think,  most  dear  Father,  doth  comfort 
us  at  Chelsea,  during  this  your  Absence  ?  Surclie,  the 
Remembrance  of  your  Manner  of  Life  among  us, 
your  holy  Conversation,  your  wholesome  Counsells, 
your  Examples  of  Virtue,  of  which  there  is  Hope  that 
they  do  not  onlie  persevere  with  you,  but  that,  by 
GOD'S  Grace,  they  are  much  increast." 

I  weary  to  see  him.  .  .  .     Yes,  we  shall  meet  in 
Heaven,  but  how  long  first,  O  LORD  ?  how  long? 


Aug.  2Oth. 

Now  that  I've  come  back,  let  me  seek  to  think,  to 
remember.  .  .  .  Sure,  my  Head  will  clear  by-and-by  ! 
Strange,  that  Feeling  shoulde  have  the  Masterdom  of 
Thought  and  Memory,  in  Matters  it  is  most  con- 
cerned to  retayn. 

...  I  minded  to  put  the  Haircloth  and  Cord 
under  my  Farthingale,  and  one  or  two  of  the  smaller 
Books  in  my  Pouch,  as  alsoesome  Sweets  and  Suckets 
such  as  he  was  used  to  love.  Will  and  Bonvisi  were 
a-waiting  for  me  ;  and  deare  Bess,  putting  forthe  her 
Head  from  her  Chamber  Door,  cries  piteously,  "Tell 
him,  dear  Meg,  tell  him  .  .  .  'twas  never  soe  sad  to 
me  to  be  sick  .  .  .and  that  I  hope  ...  I  pray  .  .  . 
the  Time  may  come  .  .  ."  then  falls  back  swooning 
into  Dancey's  Arms,  whom  I  leave  crying  heartilie 
over  her,  and  hasten  below  to  receive  the  confused 
Medley  of  Messages  sent  by  every  other  Member  of 
the  House.  For  mine  owne  Part,  I  was  in  such  a 


SI^THOS.  MO<RE  183 

tremulous  Succussion  as  to  be  scarce  fitt  to  stand  or 
goe  ;  but  Time  and  the  Tide  will  noe  Man  bide,  and, 
once  having  taken  Boat,  the  cool  River  Air  allayed 
my  fevered  Spiritts  ;  onlie  I  coulde  not  for  awhile  get 
ridd  of  the  Impression  of  poor  Dancey  crying  over 
Bess  in  her  Deliquium. 

I  think  none  o'  the  three  opened  our  Lips  before 
we  reached  Lambeth,  save,  in  the  Reach,  Will  cried  to 
the  Steersman,  "  Look  you  run  us  not  aground,"  in  a 
sharper  Voyce  than  I  e'er  heard  from  him.  After 
passing  the  Archbishop's  Palace,  whereon  I  gazed  full 
ruefullie,  good  Bonvisi  beganne  to  mention  some 
Rhymes  he  had  founde  writ  with  a  Diamond  on  one  of 
the  Window-panes  at  Crosby  House,  and  would  know 
were  they  Father's  ?  and  was't  the  Chamber  Father 
had  used  to  sleep  in  ?  I  tolde  him  it  was,  but  knew 
Nought  of  the  Distich, though  'twas  like  enow  to  be 
his.  And  thence  he  went  on  to  this  and  that,  how 
that  Father 's  cheerfulle,  funny  Humour  never  forsook 
him,  nor  his  brave  Heart  never  quelled}  instancing 
his  fearlesse  Passage  through  the  Traitor's  Gate, 
asking  his  Neighbours  whether  his  Gait  were  that  of 
a  Traditor  ;  and,  on  being  sued  by  the  Porter  for  his 
upper  Garment,  giving  him  his  Cap,  which  he  sayd 
was  uppermost.  And  other  such  Quips  and  Passages, 
which  I  scarce  noted  nor  smiled  at,  soe  sorry  was  I  of 
Cheer. 

At  length  we  stayed  rowing  :  Will  lifted  me  out, 
kissed  me,  heartened  me  up  ;  and,  indeede,  I  was  in 
better  Heart  then,  having  been  quietlie  in  Prayer  a 
good  While.  After  some  few  Forms,  we  were  led 


1 84  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

through  sundrie  Turns  and  Passages  ;  and,  or  ever  I 
was  aware,  I  founde  myself  quit  of  my  Companions 
and  in  Father's  Arms. 

We  both  cried  a  little  at  first ;  I  wonder  I  wept 
noe  more,  but  Strength  was  given  me  in  that  Hour. 
As  soone  as  I  coulde,  I  lookt  him  in  the  Face,  and  he 
lookt  at  me,  and  I  was  beginning  to  note  his  hollow 
Cheeks,  when  he  sayd,  "Why,  Meg,  you  are  getting 
freckled  ;  "  soe  that  made  us  bothe  laugh.  He  sayd, 
"  You  shoulde  get  some  Freckle- water  of  the  Lady 
that  sent  me  here  ;  depend  on  it,  she  hath  Washes 
and  Tinctures  in  Plenty  ;  and  after  all,  Megt  she'll 
come  to  the  same  End  at  last,  and  be  as  the  Lady  all 
Bone  and  Skin,  whose  ghastlie  Legend  used  to  scare 
thee  soe  when  thou  wert  a  Child.  Don't  tell  that 
Story  to  thy  Children  ;  'twill  hamper  'em  with  un- 
savoury Images  of  Death.  Tell  them  of  Heavenlie 
Hosts  a-waiting  to  carry  off  good  Men's  Souls  in  fire- 
bright  Chariots,  with  Horses  of  the  Sun,  to  a  Land 
where  they  shall  never  more  be  surbated  and  weary, 
but  walk  on  cool,  springy  Turf  and  among  Myrtle 
Trees,  and  eat  Fruits  that  shall  heal  while  they 
delight  them,  and  drink  the  coldest  of  cold  Water, 
fresh  from  the  River  of  Life,  and  have  Space  to 
stretch  themselves,  and  bathe,  and  leap,  and  run,  and, 
whichever  Way  they  look,  meet  Christ's  Eyes  smil- 
ing on  them.  Sure,  Meg,  who  would  live,  that 
coulde  die  ?  One  mighte  as  lief  be  an  Angel  shut 
up  in  a  Nutshell  as  bide  here.  Fancy  how  gladsome 
the  sweet  Spirit  woulde  be  to  have  the  Shell  cracked  ! 
no  matter  by  whom  ;  the  King,  or  King's  Mistress. . . . 


SI^THOS.  MOT(E  185 

Let  her  dainty  Foot  but  set  him  free,  he'd  say,  *  For 
this  Release,  much  Thanks.'  .  .  .  And  how  goes 
the  Court,  Meg?" 

"In  Faith,  Father,  never  better.  .  .  .  There  is 
Nothing  else  there,  I  hear,  but  Dancing  and  Dis- 
porting." 

"  Never  better,  Child,  sayst  thou  ?  Alas,  Meg,  it 
pitieth  me  to  consider  what  Misery,  poor  Soul,  she 
will  shortlie  come  to.  These  Dances  of  hers  will 
prove  such  Dances  that  she  will  spurn  our  Heads  off 
like  Footballs ;  but  'twill  not  be  long  ere  her  Head 
will  dance  the  like  Dance.  Mark  you,  Meg,  a  Man 
that  restraineth  not  his  Passions,  hath  always  Some- 
thing cruel  in  his  Nature,  and  if  there  be  a  Woman 
toward,  she  is  sure  to  suffer  heaviest  for  it,  first  or 
last.  .  .  .  Seek  Scripture  Precedent  for't  .  .  . 
you'll  find  it  as  I  say.  Stony  as  Death,  cruel  as  the 
Grave.  Those  Pharisees  that  were,  to  a  Man,  con- 
victed of  Sin,  yet  haled  a  sinning  Woman  before  the 
LORD,  and  woulde  fain  have  scene  the  Dogs  lick  up 
her  Blood.  When  they  lick  up  mine,  deare  Meg,  let 
not  your  Heart  be  troubled,  even  though  they 
shoulde  hale  thee  to  London  Bridge,  to  see  my  Head 
stuck  on  a  Pole.  Think,  most  dear'st,  I  shall  then 
have  more  Reason  to  weep  for  thee  than  thou  for 
me.  But  there's  noe  weeping  in  Heaven  ;  and  bear 
in  Mind,  Meg,  distinctlie,  that  if  they  send  me 
thither,  'twill  be  for  obeying  the  Law  of  GOD  rather 
than  of  Men.  And  after  alle,  we  live  not  in  the 
bloody,  barbarous  old  Times  of  Crucifyings  and 
Flayings,  and  immersing  in  Cauldrons  of  boiling  Oil. 


1 86  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

One  Stroke,  and  the  Affair's  done.  A  clumsy 
Chirurgeon  would  be  longer  extracting  a  Tooth. 
We  have  oft  agreed  that  the  little  Birds  struck  down 
by  the  Kite  and  Hawk  suffer  less  than  if  they  were 
reserved  to  a  naturall  Death.  There  is  one  sensible 
Difference,  indeed,  between  us.  In  our  Cases,  Pre- 
paration is  a-wanting." 

Hereon,  I  minded  me  to  slip  off  the  Haircloth  and 
Rope,  and  give  the  same  to  him,  along  with  the 
Books  and  Suckets,  all  which  he  hid  away  privatelie, 
making  merry  at  the  last. 

"  'Twoulde  tell  well  before  the  Council,"  quoth 
he,  "  that  on  searching  the  Prison-cell  of  Sir  Thomas 
More^  there  was  founde,flagitiouslie  and  mysteriouslie 
laid  up  ...  a  piece  of  Barley-sugar  !  " 

Then  we  talked  over  sundrie  Home-matters ;  and 
anon,  having  now  both  of  us  attayned  unto  an  equable 
and  chastened  Serenitie  of  Mind,  which  needed  not 
any  false  Shows  of  Mirth  to  hide  the  naturall  Com- 
plexion of,  he  sayth,  "  I  believe  Meg,  they  that  have 
put  me  here  ween  they  have  done  me  a  high 
Displeasure  ;  but  I  assure  thee  on  my  Faith,  mine 
owne  good  Daughter,  that  if  it  had  not  beene  for  my 
Wife,  and  for  you,  my  dear  good  Children,  I  woulde 
faine  have  beene  closed  up,  long  ere  this,  in  as  strait 
a  Room,  and  straiter  too." 

Thereon,  he  shewed  me  how  illegal  was  his  Im- 
prisonment, there  being  noe  Statute  to  authorize  the 
Imposition  of  the  Oath,  and  he  delivered  himself, 
with  some  Displeasure,  agaynst  the  King's  ill 
Counsellors. 


SI^THOS.  MO<RE  187 

" And  surelie,  Meg"  quoth  he,  " 'tis  pitie  that  anie 
Christian  Prince  shoulde,  by  a  flexible  Council  readie 
to  follow  his  Affections,  and  by  a  weak  Clergy  lack- 
ing Grace  to  stand  constantly  to  the  Truth  as  they 
have  learned  it,  be  with  Flattery  so  constantly  abused. 
The  Lotus  Fruit  fabled  by  the  Ancients,  which  made 
them  that  ate  it  lose  all  Relish  for  the  daylie  Bread 
of  their  own  Homes,  was  Flattery,  Meg^  as  I  take  it, 
and  Nothing  else.  And  what  less  was  the  Song  of 
the  Syrens,  agaynst  which  Ulysses  made  his  Sailors 
stop  their  Ears,  and  which  he,  with  all  his  Wisdom, 
coulde  not  listen  to  without  struggling  to  be  unbound 
from  the  Mast  ?  Even  Praise,  Megy  which,  moder- 
ately given,  may  animate  and  cheer  forward  the 
noblest  Minds,  yet  too  lavishly  bestowed,  will  decrease 
and  palsy  their  Strength,  e'en  as  an  Over-dose  of  the 
most  generous  and  sprightlie  Medicine  may  prove 
mortiferous.  But  Flattery  is  noe  Medicine,  but  a 
rank  Poison,  which  hath  slayn  Kings,  yea,  and  mighty 
Kings  ;  and  they  who  love  it,  the  LORD  knoweth 
afar  off;  knoweth  distantlie,  has  no  care  to  know 
intimatelie,  for  they  are  none  of  his." 

Thus  we  went  on,  from  one  Theme  to  another,  till 
methinketh  a  heavenlie  Light  seemed  to  shine  alle 
about  us,  like  as  when  the  Angel  entered  the  Prison 
of  Peter.  I  hung  upon  everie  Word  and  Thought 
that  issued  from  his  Lips,  and  drank  them  in  as  thirsty 
Land  sucks  up  the  tender  Rain.  .  .  .  Had  the  Angel 
of  Death  at  that  Hour  come  in  to  fetch  both  of  us 
away,  I  woulde  not  have  sayd  him  nay,  I  was  soe 
passively,  soe  intenselie  happy.  At  length,  as  Time 


i88  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

wore  on,  and  I  knew  I  shoulde  soone  be  fetcht  forthe, 
I  coulde  not  but  wish  I  had  the  Clew  to  some  secret 
Passage  or  Subterraneal,  of  the  which  there  were 
doubtless  Plenty  in  the  thick  Walls,  whereby  we 
might  steal  off  together.  Father  made  Answer, 
"  Wishes  never  filled  a  Sack.  I  make  it  my  Businesse, 
Meg,  to  wish  as  little  as  I  can,  except  that  I  were 
better  and  wiser.  You  fancy  these  four  Walls  lone- 
some ;  how  oft,  dost  thou  suppose,  I  here  receive 
Plato  and  Socrates,  and  this  and  that  holy  Saint  and 
Martyr  ?  My  Gaolers  can  noe  more  keep  them  out 
than  they  can  exclude  the  Sunbeams.  Thou  knowest, 
JESUS  stood  among  his  Disciples  when  the  Doors  were 
shut.  I  am  not  more  lonely  than  St  Anthony  in  his 
Cave,  and  I  have  a  divine  Light  e'en  here,  whereby 
to  con  the  Lesson,  *  GOD  is  Love.'  The  Futility  of 
our  Enemies'  Efforts  to  make  us  miserable  was  never 
more  stronglie  proven  to  me  than  when  I  was  a  mere 
Boy  in  Cardinal!  Mortons  Service.  Having  un  wittinglie 
angered  one  of  his  Chaplains,  a  choleric  and  even 
malignant-spirited  Man,  he  did, of  his  owne  Authoritie, 
shut  me  up  for  some  Hours  in  a  certayn  damp  Vault, 
which,  to  a  Lad  afeard  of  Ghosts,  and  devilish  Appari- 
tions, would  have  beene  fearsome  enow.  Howbeit,  I 
there  cast  myself  on  the  Ground  with  my  Back  sett 
agaynst  the  Wall,  and  mine  Arm  behind  my  Head, 
this  Fashion  .  .  .  and  did  then  and  there,  by  reason 
of  a  young  Heart,  quiet  Conscience,  and  quick 
Phansy,  conjure  up  such  a  lively  Picture  of  the  Queen 
o*  the  Fairies'  Court,  and  alle  the  Sayings  and  Doings 
therein,  that  never  was  I  more  sorry  than  when  my 


SII^THOS.  M01(E  189 

Gaoler  let  me  goe  free,  and  bade  me  rise  up  and  be 
doing.  In  place,  therefore,  my  Daughter,  of  thinking 
of  me  in  thy  Night  Watches  as  beating  my  Wings 
agaynst  my  Cage  Bars,  trust  that  GOD  comes  to  look 
in  upon  me  without  Knocking  or  Bell-ringing. 
Often  in  Spiritt  I  am  with  you  alle  ;  in  the  Chapel, 
in  the  Hall,  in  the  Garden  ;  now  in  the  Hayfield, 
with  my  Head  on  thy  Lap,  now  on  the  River,  with 
Will  and  %{upert  at  the  Oar.  You  see  me  not  about 
your  Path,  you  won't  see  my  disembodied  Spiritt 
beside  you  hereafter,  but  it  may  be  close  upon  you 
once  and  agayn  for  alle  that  :  maybe,  at  Times  when 
you  have  prayed  with  most  Passion,  or  suffered  with 
most  Patience,  or  performed  my  Hests  with  most 
Exactness,  or  remembered  my  Care  of  you  with  most 
Affection.  And  now,  good  Speed,  good  Meg,  I  hear 
the  Key  turn  in  the  Door.  .  .  .  This  Kiss  for  thy 
Mother,  this  for  Bess,  this  for  Cecil,  .  .  .  this  and  this 
for  my  whole  School.  Keep  dry  Eyes  and  a  hopefull 
Heart ;  and  reflect  that  Nought  but  unpardoned  Sin 
shoulde  make  us  weep  for  ever." 


September. 

SEEING  the  Woodman  fell  a  noble  Tree,  which,  as  it 
went  to  the  Ground,  did  uptear  severall  small  Plants 
by  the  Roots,  methoughte  such  woulde  be  the  Fall 
of  dear  Father,  herein  more  sad  than  that  of  the  Abbot 
of  Sion  and  the  Charterhouse  Monks,  inasmuch  as, 
being  celibate,  they  involve  noe  others  in  theire  Ruin. 
Brave,  holie  Martyrs  !  how  cheerfully  they  went  to 


i po  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

theire  Death.  I'm  glad  to  have  scene  how  pious 
Men  may  turn  e'en  an  ignominious  Sentence  into  a 
kind  of  Euthanasy.  Dear  Father  bade  me  note  how 
they  bore  themselves  as  Bridegrooms  going  to  theire 
Marriage,  and  converted  what  mighte  have  beene  a 
Shock  to  my  surcharged  Spiritts,  into  a  Lesson  of 
deepe  and  high  Comfort. 

One  Thing  hath  grieved  me  sorelie.  He  mistooke 
Somewhat  I  sayd  at  parting  for  an  Implication  of  my 
Wish  that  he  shoulde  yield  up  his  Conscience.  Oh 
no,  dearest  Father^  that  be  far  from  me  !  It  seems  to 
have  cut  him  to  the  Heart,  for  he  hath  writ  that 
"none  of  the  terrible  Things  that  may  befall  him 
touch  him  soe  nearlie  as  that  his  dearly  beloved  Child, 
whose  Opinion  he  soe  much  values,  shoulde  desire 
him  to  overrule  his  Conscience."  That  be  far  from 
me,  Father !  I  have  writ  to  explayn  the  Matter, 
but  his  Reproach,  undeserved  though  it  be,  hath 
troubled  my  Heart. 


November. 

PARLIAMENT  will  meet  to-morrow.  'Tis  expected 
Father  and  the  good  Bishop  of  (K^ochester  will  be 
attainted  for  Misprision  of  Treason  by  the  Slavish 
Members  thereof;  and  though  not  given  hithertoe 
unto  much  Heede  of  Omens  and  Bodements  while 
our  Hearts  were  light  and  our  Courage  high,  yet  now 
the  coming  Evill  seemeth  forshadowed  unto  alle  by  I 
know  not  how  many  melancholick  Presages,  sent, 
for  aught  we  know,  in  Mercy.  Now  that  the  days 


SI^THOS.  MOftE  191 

are  dark  and  short,  and  the  Nights  stormy,  we  shun 
to  linger  much  after  Dusk  in  lone  Chambers  and 
Passages,  and  what  was  sayd  of  the  Enemies  of  Israel 
may  be  nigh  sayd  of  us,  "  that  a  falling  Leaf  shall 
chase  them."  I'm  sure  "a  going  in  the  Tops  of  the 
Mulberry  Trees  "  on  a  blusterous  Evening,  is  enow 
to  draw  us  alle,  Men,  Mothers,  and  Maids,  together 
in  an  Heap.  .  .  .  We  goe  aboute  the  House  in  Twos 
and  Threes,  and  care  not  much  to  leave  the  Fireside. 
Last  Sunday  we  had  closed  about  the  Hearth,  and 
little  Bill  was  a  reading  by  the  Fire-light  how 
Herodias1  Daughter  danced  off  the  Head  of  St  John 
the  Baptist,  when  down  comes  an  emptie  Swallow's 
Nest  tumbling  adown  the  Chimnie,  bringing  with  it 
enow  of  Soot,  Smoke,  and  Rubbish  to  half  smother 
us  alle  ;  but  the  Dust  was  nothing  to  the  Dismay 
thereby  occasioned,  and  I  noted  one  or  two  of  our 
bravest  turn  as  pale  as  Death.  Then,  the  Rats  have 
skirmished  and  gallopped  behind  the  Wainscoat  more 
like  a  Troop  of  Horse  than  a  Herd  of  such  small 
Deer,  to  the  infinite  Annoyance  of  Mother,  who 
coulde  not  be  more  firmly  persuaded  they  were  about 
to  leave  a  falling  House,  if,  like  the  scared  Priests  in 
the  Temple  of  Jerusalem,  she  had  heard  a  Voyce  utter, 
"  Let  us  depart  hence."  The  round  upper  Half  of 
the  Cob-loaf  rolled  off  the  Table  this  Morning;  and 
l^upert,  as  he  picked  it  up,  gave  a  Kind  of  Shudder, 
and  muttered  somewhat  about  a  Head  rolling  from 
the  Scaffold.  Worse  than  this  was  o'  Tuesday  Night. 
.  .  .  'Twas  Bed-time,  and  yet  none  were  liking  to 
goe,  when,  o'  suddain,  we  hearde  a  Screech  that  made 


192  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

every  Body's  Heart  thrill,  followed  by  one  or  two 
hollow  Groans.  Will  snatches  up  the  Lamp  and  runs 
forth,  I  close  following,  and  alle  the  others  at  our 
Heels ;  and  after  looking  into  sundrie  deserted  Cup- 
boards and  Corners,  we  descend  the  broad  Stone 
Steps  of  the  Cellars,  half  way  down  which  Will, 
stumbling  over  something  he  sees  not,  takes  a  flying 
Leap  to  clear  himself  down  to  the  Bottom,  luckily 
without  extinguishing  the  Lamp.  We  find  Gillian 
on  the  Steps  in  a  Swoon  ;  on  bringing  her  to,  she 
exclayms  about  a  Ghost  without  a  Head,  wrapped  in 
a  Winding-sheet,  that  confronted  her  and  then  sank 
to  the  Ground  as  she  entered  the  Vaults.  We  cast 
a  fearfulle  Look  about,  and  descry  a  tall  white  Sack 
of  Flour,  recently  overturned  by  the  Rats,  which 
clears  up  the  Mystery,  and  procures  Gillian  a  little 
Jeering  ;  but  we  alle  return  to  the  Hall  with  fluttered 
Spiritts.  Another  Time  I,  going  up  to  the  Nurserie 
in  the  Dark,  on  hearing  Baby  cry,  am  passed  on  the 
Stairs  by  I  know  not  what,  breathing  heavilie.  I 
reache  forthe  my  Arm,  but  pass  cleare  through  the 
spirituall  Nature,  whatever  it  is,  yet  distinctlie  feel 
my  Cheek  and  Neck  fanned  by  its  Breath.  I  turn 
very  faint,  and  get  Nurse  to  goe  with  me  when  I 
return,  bearing  a  Light,  yet  think  it  as  well  to  say 
nought  to  distress  the  rest. 

But  worst  of  alle  was  last  Night.  .  .  .  After  I  had 
beene  in  Bed  awhile,  I  minded  me  that  deare  Will 
had  not  returned  me  Father's  Letter.  I  awoke  him, 
and  asked  if  he  had  broughte  it  up  Stairs  ;  he  sleepily 
replied  he  had  not,  soe  I  hastily  arose,  threw  on  a 


SI^THOS.  MQCRE  193 

Cloke,  took  a  Light,  and  entered  the  Gallery  ;  when, 
half-way  along  it,  between  me  and  the  pale  Moon- 
shine, I  was  scared  to  behold  a  slender  Figure  alle  in 
white,  with  naked  Feet  and  Arms  extended.  I  stoode 
agaze,  speechlesse,  and  to  my  Terror  made  out  the 
Features  of  Bess  .  .  .  her  Eyes  open,  but  vacant ; 
then  saw  John  Dancey  softly  stealing  after  her,  and 
signing  to  me  with  his  Finger  on  his  Lips.  She 
passed  without  noting  me,  on  to  Father's  Door,  there 
knelt  as  if  in  Prayer,  making  a  low  sort  of  Wail, 
while  Dancey^  with  Tears  running  down  his  Cheeks, 
whispered,  "  'Tis  the  third  Time  of  her  thus  sleep- 
walking .  .  .  the  Token  of  how  troubled  a  Mind  !  " 

We  disturbed  her  not,  dreading  that  a  suddain 
Waking  might  bring  on  Madness  ;  soe  after  making 
Moan  awhile,  she  kisses  the  senseless  Door,  rises  up, 
moves  towards  her  own  Chamber,  followed  by  Dancey 
and  me,  wrings  her  Hands  a  little,  then  lies  down  and 
graduallie  falls  into  what  seems  a  dreamlesse  Sleep, 
we  watching  her  in  Silence  till  she's  quiet,  and  then 
squeezing  each  other's  Hands  ere  we  part. 

Will  was  wide  awake  when  I  got  back  ;  he 

sayd,  "  Why,  Meg,  how  long  you  have  beene  !  coulde 
you  not  lighte  on  the  Letter  ? "  .  .  .  When  I  tolde 
him  what  had  hindered  me  by  the  Way,  he  turned 
his  face  to  the  Wall  and  wept. 


H 


194  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 


Midnight. 

THE  wild  Wind  is  abroad,  and,  methinketh,  nothing 
else.  Sure,  how  it  rages  through  our  empty  Courts  ! 
In  such  a  Season,  Men,  Beasts,  and  Fowls  cower 
beneath  the  Shelter  of  their  rocking  Walls,  yet  almost 
fear  to  trust  them.  LORD,  I  know  that  thou  canst 
give  the  Tempest  double  Force,  but  do  not,  I  beseech 
thee  !  Oh  !  have  Mercy  on  the  frail  Dwelling  and 
the  Ship  at  Sea. 

Dear  little  Bill  hath  ta'en  a  feverish  Attack.  I 
watch  beside  him  whilst  his  Nurse  sleeps.  Earlie  in 
the  Night  his  Mind  wandered,  and  he  told  me  of  a 
pretty  pyebald  Poney,  noe  bigger  than  a  Bee,  that 
had  golden  Housings  and  Barley-sugar  Eyes  ;  then 
dozed,  but  ever  and  anon  kept  starting  up,  crying, 
"  Mammy  dear  !  "  and  softlie  murmured,  u  Oh  !  " 
when  he  saw  I  was  by.  At  length  I  gave  him  my 
Forefinger  to  hold,  which  kept  him  ware  of  my 
Presence  without  speaking ;  but  presentlie  he  stares 
hard  towards  the  Foot  of  the  Bed,  and  says  fearfullie, 
"  Mother,  why  hangs  yon  Hatchet  in  the  Air,  with 
its  sharp  Edge  turned  towards  us  ?  "  I  rise,  move 
the  Lamp,  and  say,  "  Do  you  see  it  now  ? "  He 
sayth,  "  No,  not  now,"  and  closes  his  Eyes.  After  a 
good  Space,  during  the  which  I  hoped  he  slept,  he 
says  in  quite  an  altered  Tone,  most  like  unto  soft, 
sweet  Music,  "  There's  a  pretty  little  Cherub  there 
now,  alle  Head  and  noe  Body,  with  two  little  Wings 
aneath  his  Chin  ;  but  for  alle  he's  soe  pretty,  he  is  just 


SI^THOS.  MO<HE  195 

like  dear  Gaffer,  and  seems  to  know  me  .  .  .  and 
he'll  have  a  Body  agayn  too,  I  believe,  by  and  by.  .  .  . 
Mother,  Mother,  tell  Hobbinol  there's  such  a  gentle 
Lamb  in  Heaven  !  "  And  soe  slept. 


HE'S  gone,  my  pretty  !  .  .  .  slipt  through  my  Fingers 
like  a  Bird  !  upfled  to  his  own  native  Skies ;  and  yet, 
whenas  I  think  on  him,  I  cannot  choose  but  weepe. 
.  .  .  Such  a  guilelesse  little  Lamb  !  .  .  .  My  Billy- 
bird  !  his  Mother's  owne  Heart  ! — They  are  alle 
wondrous  kind  to  me.  .  .  . 


27 'th. 

How  strange  that  a  little  Child  shoulde  be  permitted 
to  suffer  soe  much  Payn,  when  of  such  is  the  King- 
dom of  Heaven  !  But  'tis  onlie  transient,  whereas  a 
Mother  makes  it  permanent,  by  thinking  it  over  and 
over  agayn.  One  Lesson  it  taughte  us  betimes,  that 
a  naturall  Death  is  not,  necessarilie,  the  most  easie. 
We  must  alle  die.  ...  As  poor  Patteson  was  used  to 
say,  "The  greatest  King  that  ever  was  made,  must 
bed  at  last  with  Shovel  and  Spade,"  .  .  .  and  I'd 
sooner  have  my  Billy's  Baby  Deathbed  than  King 
Harry's,  or  Nan  Boleyns  either,  however  manie  Years 
they  may  yet  carry  Matters  with  a  high  Hand.  Oh, 
you  Ministers  of  Evill,  whoever  ye  be,  visible  or  in- 
visible, you  shall  not  build  a  Wall  between  my  GOD 
and  me.  .  .  .  I've  Something  within  me  grows  stronger 


196  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

and  stronger,  as  Times  grow  more  and  more  Evill ; 
some  woulde  call  it  Resolution,  but  methinketh  'tis 
Faith. 

Meantime,  Father's  Foes  .  .  .  alack  that  anie  can 
shew  'emselves  such  !  are  aiming,  by  fayr  Seemingsof 
friendlie  Conference,  to  draw  from  him  Admissions 
they  can  come  at  after  noe  other  Fashion.  The  new 
Solicitor  General/  hath  gone  to  the  Tower  to  deprive 
him  of  the  few  Books  I  have  taken  him  from  Time  to 
Time.  .  .  .  Ah,  Master  Rich,  you  must  deprive  him 
of  his  Brains  afore  you  can  rob  him  of  their  Contents  ! 
.  .  .  and,  while  having  'em  packt  up,  he  falls  into 
easie  Dialogue  with  him,  as  thus,  .  .  .  "Why  now, 
sure,  Mr  More,  were  there  an  Act  of  Parliament  made 
that  all  the  Realm  shoulde  take  me  for  King,  you 
woulde  take  me  for  such  with  the  Rest." 

"  Aye,  that  would  I,  Sir,"  returns  Father. 

"  Forsooth,  then,"  pursues  Rich,  "  we'll  suppose 
another  Act  that  should  make  me  the  Pope.  Woulde 
you  not  take  me  for  Pope  ? " 

"Or  suppose  another  Case,  Mr  Rich"  returns 
Father,  "  that  another  Act  shoulde  pass,  that  GOD 
shoulde  not  be  GOD,  would  you  say  well  and  good  ?" 

u  No,  truly,"  returns  the  other  hastily,  "  for  no 
Parliament  coulde  make  such  Act  lawful." 

"  True,  as  you  say,"  repeats  Father,  "  they  coulde 
not,"  .  .  .  soe  eluded  the  Net  of  the  Fowler  ;  but 
how  miserable  and  unhandsome  a  Device  to  lay  wait 
for  him  thus  ! 

...  I  stole  forthe,  ere  'twas  Lighte,  this  damp 
chill  Morning,  to  pray  beside  the  little  Grave,  but 


SI^THOS.  MOT(E  197 

found  dear  Daisy  there  before  me.  How  Christians 
love  one  another  ! 

Will's  Loss  is  as  heavie  as  mine,  yet  he  bears  with 
me  tenderlie.  Yesternighte,  he  sayth  to  me  half 
reproachfullie,  "Am  not  I  better  unto  thee  than  ten 
Sons  ? " 

March,  1535. 

SPRING  comes,  that  brings  Rejuvenescence  to  the 
Land,  and  Joy  to  the  Heart,  but  it  brings  none  to  us, 
for  where  Hope  dieth,  Joy  dieth.  But  Patience, 
Soul  ;  GOD'S  yet  in  the  Aumry  ! 

May  7. 
FATHER  arraigned. 

July  I. 

BY  Reason  of  Will's  minding  to  be  present  at  the 
Triall,  which,  for  the  Concourse  of  Spectators,  de- 
manded his  earlie  Attendance,  he  committed  the 
Care  of  me,  with  Bess,  to  Dancey,  who  got  us  Places 
to  see  Father  on  his  Way  from  the  Tower  to  West- 
minster Hall.  We  coulde  not  come  at  him  for  the 
Crowd,  but  clambered  on  a  Bench  to  gaze  our  very 
Hearts  away  after  him  as  he  went  by,  sallow,  thin, 
grey-haired,  yet  in  Mien  not  a  Whit  cast  down. 
Wrapt  in  a  coarse  woollen  Gown,  and  leaning  on  a 
Staff;  which  unwonted  Support  when  Bess  markt, 
she  hid  her  Eyes  on  my  Shoulder  and  wept  sore,  but 
soon  lookt  up  agayn,  though  her  Eyes  were  soe 
blinded,  I  think  she  coulde  not  see  him.  His  Face 


198  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

was  calm,  but  grave,  as  he  came  up,  but  just  as  he 
passed  he  caughte  the  Eye  of  some  one  in  the  Crowd, 
and  smiled  in  his  old,  franlc  Way  ;  then  glanced  up 
towards  the  Windows  with  the  bright  Look  he  hath 
soe  oft  cast  to  me  at  my  Casement,  but  saw  us  not. 
I  coulde  not  help  crying  "  Father"  but  he  heard  me 
not ;  perchance  'twas  soe  best.  ...  I  woulde  not 
have  had  his  Face  cloud  at  the  Sight  of  poor  Bessy's 
Tears. 

•  •  •  Will  tells  me  the  Indictment  was  the  longest 
ever  hearde  ;  on  four  Counts.  First,  his  Opinion 
on  the  King's  Marriage.  Second,  his  writing  sundrie 
Letters  to  the  Bishop  of 'Rochester,  counselling  him  to 
hold  out.  Third,  refusing  to  acknowledge  his  Grace's 
Supremacy.  Fourth,  his  positive  Deniall  of  it,  and 
thereby  willing  to  deprive  the  King  of  his  Dignity 
and  Title. 

When  the  reading  of  this  was  over,  the  Lord 
Chancellor  sayth,  "  Ye  see  how  grievouslie  you  have 
offended  the  King  his  Grace,  but  and  yet  he  is  soe 
mercifulle,  as  that  if  ye  will  lay  aside  your  Obstinacie, 
and  change  your  Opinion,  we  hope  ye  may  yet  obtayn 
Pardon." 

Father  makes  Answer  .  .  .  and  at  Sounde  of  his 
dearc  Voyce  alle  Men  hold  their  Breaths  ;  .  .  . 
"  Most  noble  Lords,  I  have  great  Cause  to  thank 
your  Honours  for  this  your  Courtesie  .  .  .  but  I  pray 
ALMIGHTY  GOD  I  may  continue  in  the  Mind  I'm 
in,  through  his  Grace,  until  Death." 

They  coulde  not  make  goode  their  Accusation 
agaynst  him.  'Twas  onlie  on  the  Last  Count  he 


THOS.  MO<RE  199 

could  be  made  out  a  Traitor,  and  Proof  of  't  had  they 
none ;  how  coulde  they  have  ?  He  shoulde  have 
beene  acquitted  out  of  hand,  'steade  of  which,  his 
bitter  Enemy  my  Lord  Chancellor  called  on  him  for 
his  Defence.  Willszyih  there  was  a  generall  Murmur 
or  Sigh  ran  through  the  Court.  Father,  however, 
answered  the  Bidding  by  beginning  to  expresse  his 
Hope  that  the  Effect  of  long  Imprisonment  mighte 
not  have  beene  such  upon  his  Mind  and  Body,  as  to 
impair  his  Power  of  rightlie  meeting  alle  the  Charges 
agaynst  him  .  .  .  when,  turning  faint  with  long 
standing,  he  staggered  and  loosed  Hold  of  his  Staff, 
whereon  he  was  accorded  a  Seat.  'Twas  but  a 
Moment's  Weakness  of  the  Body,  and  he  then  pro- 
ceeded frankly  to  avow  his  having  always  opposed 
the  King's  Marriage  to  his  Grace  himself,  which  he 
was  soe  far  from  thinking  High  Treason,  that  he 
shoulde  rather  have  deemed  it  Treachery  to  have 
withholden  his  Opinion  from  his  Sovereign  King  when 
solicited  by  him  for  his  Counsell.  His  Letters  to 
the  good  Bishop  he  proved  to  have  been  harm- 
lesse.  Touching  his  declining  to  give  his  Opinion, 
when  askt,  concerning  the  Supremacy,  he  alleged 
there  coulde  be  noe  Transgression  in  holding  his 
Peace  thereon,  GOD  only  being  cognizant  of  our 
Thoughts. 

"  Nay,"  interposeth  the  Attorney  Generall,  "  your 
Silence  was  the  Token  of  a  malicious  Mind." 

"  I  had  always  understoode,"  answers  Father,  "  that 
Silence  stoode  for  Consent.  Qui  tacet,  consentire 
videtur ;"  which  made  Sundrie  smile.  On  the  last 


200  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

Charge,  he  protested  he  had  never  spoken  Word 
against  the  Law  unto  anie  Man. 

The  Jury  are  about  to  acquit  him,  when  up  starts 
the  Solicitor  General^  offers  himself  as  Witness  for  the 
Crown,  is  sworn,  and  gives  Evidence  of  his  Dialogue 
with  Father  in  the  Tower,  falselie  adding,  like  a  Liar 
as  he  is,  that  on  his  saying  "  No  Parliament  coulde 
make  a  Law  that  GOD  shoulde  not  be  GOD,"  Father 
had  rejoyned,  "  No  more  coulde  they  make  the  King 
supreme  Head  of  the  Church." 

I  marvell  the  Ground  opened  not  at  his  Feet. 
Father  brisklie  made  Answer,  "  If  I  were  a  Man,  my 
Lords,  who  regarded  not  an  Oath,  yc  know  well  I 
needed  not  stand  now  at  this  Bar.  And  if  the  Oath 
which  you,  Mr  Rick,  have  just  taken,  be  true,  then  I 
pray  I  may  never  see  GOD  in  the  Face.  In  good 
Truth,  Mr  Rick,  I  am  more  sorry  for  your  Perjurie 
than  my  Perill.  You  and  I  once  dwelt  long  together 
in  one  Parish  ;  your  manner  of  Life  and  Conversation 
from  your  Youth  up  were  familiar  to  me,  and  it 
paineth  me  to  tell  ye  were  ever  held  very  light  of 
your  Tongue,  a  great  Dicer  and  Gamester,  and  not 
of  anie  commendable  Fame  either  there  or  in  the 
Temple,  the  Inn  to  which  ye  have  belonged.  Is  it 
credible,  therefore,  to  your  Lordships,  that  the  Secrets 
of  my  Conscience  touching  the  Oath,  which  I  never 
woulde  reveal,  after  the  Statute  once  made,  either  to 
the  King's  Grace  himself,  nor  to  anie  of  you,  my 
honourable  Lords,  I  should  have  thus  lightly  blurted 
out  in  private  Parley  with  Mr  Rick?" 

In  short,  the  Villain  made  not  goode  his  Poynt  : 


SI^THOS.  MO<I(E  201 

ne'erthelesse,  the  Issue  of  this  black  Day  was  afore- 
hand  fixed ;  my  Lord  Audley  was  primed  with  a 
virulent  and  venomous  Speech  ;  the  Jury  retired,  and 
presentlie  returned  with  a  Verdict  of  Guilty  ;  for 
they  knew  what  the  King's  Grace  woulde  have  'em 
doe  in  that  Case. 

Up  starts  my  Lord  Audley ;  commences  pronounc- 
ing Judgment,  when — 

"  My  Lord,"  says  Father,  "  in  my  Time,  the 
Custom  in  these  Cases  was  ever  to  ask  the  Prisoner 
before  Sentence,  whether  he  coulde  give  anie  Reason 
why  judgment  shoulde  not  proceed  agaynst  him." 

My  Lord,  in  some  Confusion,  puts  the  Question. 

And  then  came  the  frightful  Sentence. 

Yes,  yes,  my  Soul,  I  know  ;  there  were  Saints  of 
old  sawn  asunder.  Men  of  whom  the  World  was 
not  worthy. 

.  .  .  Then  he  spake  unto  'em  his  Mind  ;  and  bade 
his  Judges  and  Accusers  farewell ;  hoping  that  like 
as  St  Paul  was  present  and  consenting  unto  St  Stephen's 
Death,  and  yet  both  were  now  holy  Saints  in  Heaven, 
so  he  and  they  might  speedilie  meet  there,  joint  Heirs 
of  e'erlasting  Salvation. 

Meantime,  poor  Bess  and  Cecilie,  spent  with  Grief 
and  long  waiting,  were  forct  to  be  carried  Home  by 
Heron,  or  ever  Father  returned  to  his  Prison.  Was't 
less  Feeling,  or  more  Strength  of  Body,  enabled  me 
to  bide  at  the  Tower  Wharf  with  Dancey?  GOD 
knoweth.  They  brought  him  back  by  Water  ;  my 
poor  Sisters  must  have  passed  him.  ...  The  first 
Thing  I  saw  was  the  Axe,  turned  with  its  Edge  towards 


202  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

him — my  first  Note  of  his  Sentence.  I  forct  my  Way 
through  the  Crowd  .  .  .  some  one  laid  a  cold  Hand 
on  mine  Arm  ;  'twas  poor  Patteson,  soe  changed  I 
scarce  knew  him,  with  a  Rosary  of  Gooseberries  he 
kept  running  through  his  Fingers.  He  sayth,  "  Bide 
your  Time,  Mistress  Meg  ;  when  he  comes  past  I'll 
make  a  Passage  for  ye  ;  ...  Oh,  Brother,  Brother  ! 
what  ailed  thee  to  refuse  the  Oath  ?  I've  taken  it ! " 
In  another  Moment,  "Now,  Mistress,  now!"  and 
flinging  his  Arms  right  and  left,  made  a  Breach 
through  which  I  darted,  fearlesse  of  Bills  and  Halberds, 
and  did  cast  mine  Arms  about  Father's  Neck.  He 
cries,  "  My  Meg !  "  and  hugs  me  to  him  as  though 
our  very  Souls  shoulde  grow  together.  He  sayth, 
"Bless  thee,  bless  thee!  Enough,  enough,  my 
Child ;  what  mean  ye,  to  weep  and  break  mine 
Heart  ?  Remember,  though  I  die  innocent,  'tis  not 
without  the  Will  of  GOD,  who  coulde  have  turned 
mine  Enemies'  Hearts,  if  'twere  best ;  therefore 
possess  your  Soul  in  Patience.  Kiss  them  alle  for 
me,  thus  and  thus  .  .  ."  soe  gave  me  back  into 
Danceys  Arms,  the  Guards  about  him  alle  weeping  ; 
but  I  coulde  not  thus  lose  Sight  of  him  for  ever  ;  soe, 
after  a  Minute's  Pause,  did  make  a  second  Rush, 
brake  away  from  Dancey^  clave  to  Father  agayn,  and 
agayn  they  had  Pitie  on  me,  and  made  Pause  while  I 
hung  upon  his  Neck.  This  Time  there  were  large 
Drops  standing  on  his  dear  Brow  ;  and  the  big  Tears 
were  swelling  into  his  Eyes.  He  whispered,  "  Megy 
for  Christ's  Sake  don't  unman  me  ;  thou'lt  not  deny 
my  last  Request  ? "  I  sayd,  "  Oh  !  no  ;  "  and  at  once 


SI^THOS.  MOT(E  203 

loosened  mine  Arms.  "  God's  Blessing  be  with 
you,"  he  sayth  with  a  last  Kiss.  I  coulde  not  help 
crying,  "  My  Father,  my  Father  /  "  "  The  Chariot 
of  Israel^  and  the  Horsemen  thereof  !  "  he  vehementlie 
whispers,  pointing  upwards  with  soe  passionate  a 
Regard,  that  I  look  up,  almost  expecting  a  beatific 
Vision  ;  and  when  I  turn  about  agayn,  he's  gone, 
and  I  have  noe  more  Sense  nor  Life  till  I  find  myself 
agayn  in  mine  owne  Chamber,  my  Sisters  chafing  my 
Hands. 

July  $th. 

ALLE'S  over  now  .  .  .  they've  done  theire  worst,  and 
yet  I  live.  There  were  Women  could  stande  aneath 
the  Cross.  The  Maccabees'  Mother  —  .  .  .  yes,  my 
Soul,  yes  ;  I  know  —  Nought  but  unpardoned  Sin. 
.  .  .  The  Chariot  of  Israel. 

6th. 

DR  Clement  hath  beene  with  us.  Sayth  he  went  up 
as  blythe  as  a  Bridegroom  to  be  clothed  upon  with 
Immortality. 

Rupert  stoode  it  alle  out.    Perfect  Love  casteth  out 
feare.     Soe  did  his. 


MY  most  precious  Treasure  is  this  deare  Billet,  writ 
with  a  Coal  :  the  last  Thing  he  sett  his  Hand  to, 
wherein  he  sayth,  "  I  never  liked  your  Manner  to- 
wards me  better  than  when  you  kissed  me  last." 


204  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 


THEY  have  let  us  bury  his  poor  mangled  Trunk  ;  but, 
as  sure  as  there's  a  Sun  in  Heaven,  I'll  have  his  Head  ! 
before  another  Sun  hath  risen,  too.  If  wise  Men 
won't  speed  me,  I'll  e'en  content  me  with  a  Fool. 

I  doe  think  Men,  for  the  most  Part  be  Cowards 
in  theire  Hearts  .  .  .  moral  Cowards.  Here 
and  there,  we  find  one  like  Father,  and  like  Socrates, 
and  like  .  .  .  this  and  that  one,  I  mind  not  theire 
Names  just  now  ;  but  in  the  Main,  methinketh  they 
lack  the  moral  Courage  of  Women.  Maybe,  I'm 
unjust  to  'em  just  now,  being  crost. 

July  20th. 

I  LAY  down,  but  my  Heart  was  waking.  Soon  after 
the  first  Cock  crew,  I  hearde  a  Pebble  cast  agaynst 
my  Lattice,  knew  the  Signall,  rose,  dressed,  stole 
softlie  down  and  let  myself  out.  I  knew  the  Touch 
of  the  poor  Fool's  Fingers ;  his  Teeth  were  chatter- 
ing, 'twixt  Cold  and  Fear,  yet  he  laught  aneath 
his  Breath  as  he  caught  my  Arm  and  dragged  me 
after  him,  whispering,  "  Fool  and  fayr  Lady  will 
cheat  'em  yet."  At  the  Stairs  lay  a  Wherry  with  a 
Couple  of  Boatmen,  and  one  of  'em  stepping  up  to 
me,  cries,  "  Alas  for  ruth,  Mistress  Meg,  what  is't  ye 
do  ?  Art  mad  to  go  on  this  Errand  ?  "  I  sayd,  "  I 
shall  be  mad  if  I  goe  not,  and  succeed  too — put  me 
in,  and  push  off." 


SI^THOS.  MO1(E  205 

We  went  down  the  River  quietlie  enow — at 
length  reach  London  Bridge  Stairs.  Patteson^  start- 
ing up,  says,  "  Bide  ye  all  as  ye  are,"  and  springs 
aland  and  runneth  up  to  the  Bridge.  Anon,  returns, 
and  sayth,  "  Now,  Mistress,  alle's  readie  .  .  .  readier 
than  ye  wist  .  .  .  come  up  quickly,  for  the  Coast's 
clear."  Hobson  (for  twas  he)  helps  me  forth,  saying, 
"  God  speed  ye,  Mistress.  .  .  An'  I  dared,  I 
woulde  goe  with  ye."  .  .  .  Thought  I,  there  be 
others  in  that  Case. 

Nor  lookt  I  up  till  aneath  the  Bridgegate,  when 
casting  upward  a  fearsome  Look,  I  beheld  the  Dark 
Outline  of  the  ghastly  yet  precious  Relic  ;  and, 
falling  into  a  Tremour,  did  wring  my  Hands  and 
exclaym,  "  Alas,  alas,  that  Head  hath  lain  full  manie  a 
Time  in  my  Lap,  woulde  God,  woulde  GOD  it  lay  there 
now  !  When,  o'suddain,!  saw  the  Pole  tremble  and 
sway  towards  me  ;  and  stretching  forth  my  Apron, 
I  did  in  an  Extasy  of  Gladness,  Pity,  and  Horror, 
catch  its  Burthen  as  it  fell.  Patteson,  shuddering,  yet 
grinning,  cries  under  his  Breath,  "  Managed  I  not 
well,  Mistress  ?  Let's  speed  away  with  our  Theft, 
for  Fools  and  their  Treasures  are  soon  parted  j  but 
I  think  not  they'll  follow  hard  after  us,  neither,  for 
there  are  Well-wishers  to  us  on  the  Bridge.  I'll  put 
ye  into  the  Boat  and  then  say,  GOD  speed  ye,  Lady, 
with  your  Burthen." 


206  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 


July 

,  Daughter  of  Aiah,  did  watch  her  Dead  from 
the  beginning  of  Harvest  until  the  latter  Rain,  and 
suffered  neither  the  Birds  of  the  Air  to  light  on  them 
by  Day,  nor  the  wild  Beasts  of  the  Field  by  Night. 
And  it  was  told  the  King,  but  he  intermeddled  not 
with  her. 

Argia  stole  Polynices1  Body  by  Night  and  buried  it, 
for  the  which,  she  with  her  Life  did  willingly  pay 
Forfeit.  Antigone ,  for  aiding  in  the  pious  Theft,  was 
adjudged  to  be  buried  alive.  Artemisia  did  make  her- 
self her  loved  one's  Shrine,  by  drinking  his  Ashes. 
Such  is  the  Love  of  Women  ;  many  Waters  cannot 
quench  it,  neither  can  the  Floods  drown  it.  I've 
hearde  Bonvisi  tell  of  a  poor  Italian  Girl,  whose 
Brothers  did  slay  her  Lover  ;  and  in  Spite  of  them 
she  got  his  Heart,  and  buried  it  in  a  Pot  of  Basil, 
which  she  watered  Day  and  Night  with  her  Tears, 
just  as  I  do  my  Coffer.  Will  has  promised  it  shall 
be  buried  with  me  ;  layd  upon  my  Heart  j  and  since 
then,  I've  beene  easier. 

He  thinks  he  shall  write  Father's  Life,  when  he 
gets  more  composed,  and  we  are  settled  in  a  new 
Home.  We  are  to  be  cleared  out  o'  this  in  alle 
Haste ;  the  King  grutches  at  our  lingering  over 
Father's  Footsteps,  and  gazing  on  the  dear  familiar 
Scenes  associate  with  his  Image  ;  and  yet,  when  the 
News  of  the  bloody  Deed  was  taken  to  him,  as  he 
sate  playing  at  Tables  with  Queen  Anney  he  started 


SI^THOS.  MOT(E  207 

up  and  scowled  at  her,  saying,  "  Thou  art  the  Cause 
of  this  Man's  Death  !  "  Father  might  well  say,  during 
our  last  precious  Meeting  in  the  Tower,  "  'Tis  I, 
Meg,  not  the  King,  that  love  Women.  They  belie 
him  ;  he  onlie  loves  himself."  Adding,  with  his  own 
sweet  Smile,  "  Your  Gaffer  used  to  say  that  Women 
were  a  Bag  of  Snakes,  and  that  the  Man  who  put  his 
Hand  therein  woulde  be  lucky  if  he  founde  one  Eel 
among  them  alle  ;  but  'twas  onlie  in  Sport,  Meg,  and 
he  owned  that  I  had  enough  Eels  to  my  Share  to 
make  a  goodly  Pie,  and  called  my  House  the  Eel-pie 
House  to  the  Day  of  his  Death.  'Twas  our  Lord 
Jesus  raised  up  Women,  and  shewed  Kindnesse  unto 
'em  ;  and  they've  kept  theire  Level,  in  the  Main, 
ever  since." 

I  wish  Will  may  sett  down  everie  Thing  of  Father '$ 
saying  he  can  remember  ;  how  precious  will  his  Book 
then  be  to  us  !  But  I  fear  me,  these  Matters  adhere 
not  to  a  man's  Memory  .  .  .  he'll  be  telling  of  his 
Doings  as  Speaker  and  Chancellor,  and  his  saying 
this  and  that  in  Parliament.  Those  are  the  Matters 
Men  like  to  write  and  to  read  :  he  won't  write  it 
after  my  Fashion. 

I  had  a  misgiving  of  WiH's  Wrath,  that  Night, 
'speciallie  if  I  failed  ;  but  he  called  me  his  brave 
Judith.  Indeed  I  was  a  Woman  bearing  a  Head,  but 
one  that  had  oft  lain  on  my  Shoulder. 

My  Thoughts  beginne  to  have  Connexion  now  ; 
but  till  last  Night,  I  slept  not.  'Twas  scarce 
Sunsett.  Mercy  had  been  praying  beside  me,  and  I 
lay  outside  my  Bed,  inclining  rather  to  Stupor  than 


2o8  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF 

Sleep.  O'  suddain,  I  have  an  Impression  that  some 
one  is  leaning  over  me,  though  I  hear  'em  not,  nor 
feel  theire  Breath.  I  start  up,  cry  "Mercy!"  but 
she's  not  there,  nor  anie  one  else.  I  turn  on  my  Side 
and  become  heavie  to  Sleep ;  but  or  ere  I  drop  quite 
off,  agayn  I'm  sensible  or  apprehensive  of  some  living 
Consciousness  between  my  closed  Eyelids  and  the 
setting  Sunlight  ;  agayn  start  up  and  stare  about,  but 
there's  Nothing.  Then  I  feel  like  .  .  .  like  E/iy 
maybe,  when  the  Child  Samuel  came  to  him  twice  ;  and 
Tears  well  into  mine  Eyes,  and  I  close  'em  agayn, 
and  say  in  mine  Heart, "  If  he's  at  Hand,  oh,  let  me 
see  him  next  time  .  .  .  the  third  Time's  lucky." 
But  'steade  of  this,  I  fall  into  quiet,  balmy  dreamlesse 
Sleep.  Since  then,  I've  had  an  abiding,  assuring 
Sense  of  Help,  of  a  Hand  upholding  me,  and  smooth- 
ing and  glibbing  the  Way  before  me. 

We  must  yield  to  the  Powers  that  be.  At  this 
Present,  we  are  weak,  but  they  are  strong  ;  they  are 
honourable,  but  we  are  despised.  They  have  made  us 
a  Spectacle  unto  the  World,  and,  I  think,  Europe  will 
ring  with  it ;  but  at  this  present  Hour,  they  will  have 
us  forth  of  our  Home,  though  we  have  as  yet  no 
certayn  Dwelling-Place,  and  must  flee  as  scared 
Pigeons  from  their  Dove-cot.  No  Matter  ;  our  Men 
are  willing  to  labour,  and  our  Women  to  endure  : 
being  reviled,  we  bless  ;  being  persecuted,  we  suffer 
it.  Onlie  I  marvell  how  anie  honest  Man,  coming 
after  us,  will  be  able  to  eat  a  Mouthful  of  Bread  with 
a  Relish  within  these  Walls.  And,  methinketh,  a 
dishonest  Man  will  have  sundrie  Frights  from  the 


SI^THOS.  MO<%E  209 

Lares   and    Lemures.     There'll    be    Dearth    o'    black 
Beans  in  the  Market. 

Flow  on,  bright  shining  Thames.  A  good  brave 
Man  hath  walked  aforetime  on  your  Margent,  himself 
as  bright,  and  usefull,  and  delightsome  as  be  you, 
sweet  River.  And  like  you,  he  never  murmured ; 
like  you,  he  upbore  the  weary,  and  gave  Drink  to  the 
Thirsty,  and  reflected  Heaven  in  his  Face.  I'll  not 
swell  your  full  Current  with  any  more  fruitless  Tears. 
There's  a  River,  whose  streams  make  glad  the  city  of 
our  GOD.  He  now  rests  beside  it.  Good  Christian 
Folks,  as  they  hereafter  pass  this  Spot,  upborne  on  thy 
gentle  Tide,  will,  maybe,  Point  this  Way,  and  say — 
"  There  dwelt  Sir  Thomas  More  j"  but  whether  they 
doe  or  not,  Fox  Populi  is  a  very  inconsiderable  Matter. 
Who  would  live  on  theire  Breath  ?  They  hailed  St 
Paul  as  Mercury,  and  then  stoned  him,  and  cast  him 
out  of  the  City,  supposing  him  to  be  dead.  Theire 
Favourite  of  to-day  may,  for  what  they  care,  goe  hang 
himself  to-morrow  in  his  Surcingle.  Thus  it  must  be 
while  the  World  lasts  ;  and  the  very  Racks  and  Scrues 
wherewith  they  aim  to  overcome  the  nobler  Spiritt, 
onlie  test  and  reveal  its  Power  of  Exaltation  above  the 
heaviest  Gloom  of  Circumstance. 

Interfecistis,  interjecistis  Homlnem  omnium  Anglorum 
optimum. 

FINIS 


EDINBURGH 

COLSTON  AND  COY.  LIMITED 
PRINTERS 


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